THE  GATE  OF  ASIA 


WILLIAM  WARFIELD 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


A  Mosque  in  Mosul  Similar  to  that  which  Marks  the  Reputed 
Tomb  of  Jonah 


THE  GATE  OF  ASIA 

A    JOURNEY    FROM    THE     PERSIAN 
GULF  TO  THE  BLACK  SEA 


BY 

WILLIAM    WARFIELD 


WITH  48  ILLUSTRATIONS 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND    LONDON 

Ifcnfcfeerbocfcer  ipress 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY 
WILLIAM   WARFIELD 


Ube  fmfcfterbocfeer  press,  Hew  J3orb 


Go 

MY   KINSMAN 

EDWIN   WARFIELD 
OF  BALTIMORE 

TO  WHOSE  COMPANIONSHIP  ON  THE  JOURNEY  HEREIN  RECOUNTED 

I  OWE  THE  SUCCESS  OF  MY  STUDIES  IN 

THE  GATE  OF  ASIA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — THE  GATE  OF  ASIA  i 

II. — UP  THE  TIGRIS  TO  BAGDAD  .         .        6 

III. — BAGDAD,  CITY  OF  THE  KALIFS  .         .       29 

IV. — JOURNEYING  TO  BABYLON  .  .50 

V. — BY  CARAVAN  TO  KURDISTAN  AND  THE 

UPPER  TIGRIS     .         .         .        •      77 

VI. — BY  CARAVAN  TO  KURDISTAN  AND  THE 

UPPER  TIGRIS  (Continued)  .         .102 

VII. — MOSUL,  A  CITY  OF  PRIMITIVE  LAW- 
LESSNESS   .....     131 

VIII. — "THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS"  .     158 

IX. — INTO  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  HAKKIARI 

KURDS        .         .         .         .         .     190 

X. — THROUGH  THE  GORGES  OF  THE  TIGRIS 

TO  ARMENIA       ....     215 

XI. — BITLIS  AND  LAKE  VAN      .         .        .     248 
XII. — VAN  AND  THE  ARMENIANS.         .         .     279 

XIII. — To  PERSIA  THROUGH  THE  COUNTRY  OF 

THE  SHEKAK  KURDS    .         .         .314 

XIV. — URMI  AND  TABRIZ,  THE  CITIES  OF  AZER- 
BAIJAN       .         .         .         .         .345 

XV. — CONCLUSION      .         .         .  .     372 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A  MOSQUE  IN  MOSUL  SIMILAR  TO  THAT  WHICH 
MARKS  THE  REPUTED  TOMB  OF  JONAH 

Frontispiece 

TYPICAL  ARAB  VILLAGERS  AT  KUT         .         .       14 

THE  VILLAGE  OF  KUT  FROM  THE  RIVER,  A 
Goufa  IN  THE  FOREGROUND  .  .  .18 

THE  RUINS  OF  THE  PALACE  OF  CHOSROES  AT 
CTESIPHON  ......  20 

THE  DOOR  IN  THE  WALL  THAT  ONCE  FRONTED 
THE  LEFT  WING  OF  THE  PALACE  AT  CTESIPHON  22 

A  TIGRIS  WATER  HOIST  AT  WORK.  THE 
LEATHER  BAGS  ARE  DRAWN  UP  BY  ANIMALS  .  26 

A  RIVERSIDE  VIEW  IN  BAGDAD      .         .         .32 

THE  TOMB  OF  SHEIKH  OMAR,  NEAR  ONE  OF  THE 
EAST  GATES  OF  BAGDAD  ....  38 

THE  TOMB  MOSQUE  OF  SHEIKH  ABDUL  KADIR, 
SHOWING  ONE  OF  THE  FINEST  DOMES  IN  THE 
MOSLEM  WORLD  .....  44 

A  CARAVAN  OF  PERSIAN  PILGRIMS  ON  THE  WAY 
TO  KERBELA  ......  56 

A  TEA-SHOP  BEFORE  A  VILLAGE  INN  ON  THE 
ROAD  TO  BABYLON  62 


viii  Illustrations 

PAGE 

THE  RUINS  OF  NEBUCHADNEZZAR'S  PALACE  AT 
BABYLON  .......  72 

A  Zaptieh  ON  THE  BANK  OF  THE  DIALA  RIVER  .       84 

THE  BRIDGE  AT  DELI  ABBAS  FROM  THE  ROOF 
OF  THE  KHAN  ......  90 

CROSSING  THE  JEBEL  HAMRIN  en  Route  TO 
KARATEPE 94 

A  CAMP  IN  THE  KHAN  AT  KARA  TEPE      .         .      96 

A  BRIDGE  OF  PERSIAN  DESIGN  ON  THE  ROAD 
TO  KIFRI  ......  98 

FROM  THE  KHAN  OF  Tuz  KARMATI,  THE  MOST 
ATTRACTIVE  OBJECTS  IN  A  MESOPOTAMIAN 
VILLAGE  .......  100 

ENTRANCE  TO  A  BAZAAR  IN  KIRKUK.  THE 
POLICE  HEADQUARTERS,  WHERE  THE  AUTHOR 
WAS  HELD  AS  A  SPY  .....  108 

THE  CITY  OF  ERBIL,  THE  ANCIENT  ARBELA       .     118 
THE  FERRY-BOAT  ON  THE  GREAT  ZAB  .         .124 

BURNING  GYPSUM  FOR  PLASTER  OUTSIDE  THE 
WALL  OF  MOSUL  .  .  .  .  .  134 

A  FOUNTAIN  OF  ABLUTION  IN  THE  PRINCIPAL 
FRIDAY  MOSQUE  OF  MOSUL  .  .  .140 

THE  BRIDGE  ACROSS  THE  TIGRIS  AT  MOSUL. 
IN  THE  BACKGROUND,  THE  MOUND  ON  WHICH 
Is  THE  REPUTED  TOMB  OF  JONAH  .  .146 


Illustrations  ix 

PAGE 

THE  EAST  END  OF  THE  BRIDGE  ACROSS  THE 
TIGRIS  AT  MOSUL      .         .         .         .         .152 

THE  FERRY  AT  FEISH-KHABUR      .         .         .     196 
THE  CHRISTIAN  VILLAGE  OF  FEISH-KHABUR  .     208 

A  GROUP  OF  HAKKIARI  KURDS  IN  THE  BHOTAN 
VALLEY     ....... 

IN  THE  TIGRIS  GORGE  BEYOND  FENDUK  . 

PREPARING  TO  CROSS  THE  BHOTAN  Su  ON  A 
RAFT  OF  SKINS  .         .         .         .         .232 

THE   POTTER'S   QUARTER  IN  SERT  FROM  THE 
KHAN       - .         .         .  •       .         .         .         .     236 

A  VIEW  OF  THE  TOWN  OF  SERT    .         .         .  238 

AN  ORNAMENTED  GATEWAY  AT  SERT      .         .  240 
THE  BRIDGE  OVER  THE  KESER  Su  ON  THE  WAY 

TO  BITLIS       .  ....  242 

IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  BITLIS  Su         .         .  244 

A  STRIKING  DEPOSIT  MADE  BY  A  HOT  SPRING 
ACROSS  THE  ROAD  IN  BlTLIS  VALLEY  .     246 

THE  VARAG  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  VILLAGE  ABOVE 
VAN  .......     280 

THE  CASTLE  OF  VAN     .....     282 
THE  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  CASTLE  OF  VAN         .     286 

ONE  OF  THE  URARTIAN  ROCK-HEWN  CHAMBERS 
IN  TOPRA  KALA,  VAN         .         .         .         .     290 


x  Illustrations 

PAGE 

AN  ORNAMENTED  BRICK  DOORWAY  IN  AN  OLD 
TURKISH  MOSQUE  AT  VAN          .         /        .310 

IN   THE   HAVATS  VALLEY   ON   THE   WAY   TO 
BASHKALA          .         .         .         .         .         .316 

THE  KHOSHAB  CASTLE  ....     320 

THE  STRIKINGLY  ORNAMENTED  GATE  OF  KHOS- 
HAB CASTLE       ......     322 

A  KURDISH  PLOUGHMAN  ON  THE  FRONTIER       .     332 

PERSIANS  REBUILDING  A  GARDEN  WALL  NEAR 
URMI 358 

THE  BLUE  MOSQUE  AT  TABRIZ,  INTERIOR         .     368 

THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOBUS  THAT  CONNECTS  TABRIZ 
WITH  THE  CAUCASIAN  RAILWAY  .         -372 


THE  GATE  OF  ASIA 


The  Gate  of  Asia 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  GATE  OF  ASIA 

HPHE  great  advances  that  have  been  made  in 
A  the  study  of  geography  in  recent  years  have 
done  much  to  reduce  that  subject  to  a  genuine 
science,  by  correlating  the  mass  of  physical  details 
that  a  generation  ago  were  looked  upon  as  interest- 
ing and  important,  but  illogically  combined,  facts. 
We  have  come  to  realize  the  important  relation- 
ship that  exists  between  geographical  divisions 
and  mankind.  We  have  learned  that  the  most 
closely  connected  parts  of  the  world  are  those  in 
which  the  sympathies  of  the  human  inhabitants 
are  most  closely  knit  together.  The  nation  has 
always  been  the  primary  basis  of  geographic  divi- 
sion, but  the  great  empires  of  today  render  such 
a  basis  complicated,  and  cause  a  most  unscientific 
division  into  two  inco-ordinate  subjects,  political 
and  physical  geography.  The  latter  divides  the 
world  into  continents  and  seas,  without  reference 


2  The  Gate  of  Asia 

to  the  distribution  of  mankind.  The  new  geo- 
graphy seeks  to  combine  these  two  unsatisfactory 
divisions  into  a  single  science,  and  makes  its  divi- 
sions, not  according  to  land  masses,  or  political 
control,  but  according  to  civilizations. 

In  the  Eastern  Hemisphere  we  find,  in  the  north- 
ern part,  two  great  groups  of  civilizations,  each 
distinguished  from  the  other  by  marked  peculiari- 
ties; the  western  we  call  European,  the  eastern 
Asiatic.  There  is  nothing  new  in  that;  question 
arises  when  we  seek  the  boundary  between  these 
two  groups.  In  the  north  this  is  almost  impossible 
to  discover  because  of  the  blending  of  races  under 
the  Mongol  and  Muscovite  empires.  But  these 
are  both  comparatively  isolated  peoples,  whose 
influence,  on  account  of  the  physiographic  char- 
acter of  their  native  lands,  has  been  felt  so  little 
by  the  more  southerly  nations  as  to  be  negligible. 

The  difficult  line  to  draw  is  that  separating 
Mediterranean  Europe  from  the  typical  Asiatic 
civilizations  of  Iran,  India,  and  China.  On  the 
physical  basis  this  line  was  drawn  from  the  Cau- 
casus, through  the  Black  Sea  and  the  Bosphorus, 
to  Egypt,  making  Asia  include  Anatolia  and  Syria. 

But  the  greatest  influence  in  European  civiliza- 
tion came  from  Syria,  the  bond  that  held  the 
nations  together  during  the  great  crises  of  their 
history,  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  Mathemat- 
ics, too,  and  astronomy,  the  bases  of  our  boasted 
science,  were  first  learned  there,  and  there  is  an 
influential  Semitic  population  in  almost  every 


The  Gate  of  Asia  3 

European  city.  Syria  is  therefore  closely  tied 
up  with  the  West,  and  its  influence  in  Asia  has 
amounted  to  practically  nothing.  Anatolia  too 
has  had  similar  relations.  We  constantly  ac- 
knowledge our  debt  to  Greek  art  and  literature. 
True,  most  of  us  think  of  Athens  and  Sparta  in 
that  connection.  But  the  Greek  architecture  we 
are  most  prone  to  copy  is  Ionian,  the  architecture 
of  Ephesus  and  Sardes,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
^Egean;  our  favourite  Greek  literature  too  is 
scarcely  Plato,  or  Sophocles,  but  the  Homeric 
poems,  unquestionably  of  Anatolian  origin.  And 
the  same  civilization  exists  in  Ionia  today  as  ex- 
isted there  in  the  days  when  Aryan  culture  first  ap- 
peared ;  the  coast  cities  of  Asia  Minor  are  as  Greek 
as  any  in  Greece,  many  of  them  more  so. 

The  Hellenic  empire  once  included  these  lands 
and  spread  eastward  to  Babylonia  and  Assyria, 
representatives  of  a  civilization  that  has  influenced 
Europe  through  Syria,  the  first  centre  of  Semitic 
culture.  The  Roman  Empire  extended  to  the 
same  boundaries,  and  all  these  lands  are  ruled  by 
Turkey  today;  and  who  can  doubt  that  Turkey 
is  a  European  power  ? 

The  forces  of  Asiatic  invasion  have  pressed  to- 
ward Europe  time  after  time.  One  power,  the 
Ottoman,  has  succeeded  in  permanently  crossing 
the  old  boundary  of  Greek  and  Roman  influence, 
but  once  across  it,  has  had  to  sever  its  connections 
with  Asia  for  ever,  and  adopt  European  civiliza- 
tion. Despite  Turkish  rule  the  nations  of  Syria, 


4  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Anatolia,  and  ancient  Assyria  and  Armenia  have 
changed  but  little,  and  remain  today  European 
in  their  relations. 

Similarly  a  European  invasion  of  Asia  was  once 
successful,  and  in  Iran  we  have  a  people  of  Eu- 
ropean race,  with  an  Asiatic  civilization.  And 
thoroughly  Asiatic  it  has  become;  its  influence  is 
felt  to  the  eastward,  not  at  all  in  the  West.  Over 
and  over  again  it  has  beaten  at  the  gates  of  Europe ; 
and  at  Marathon  and  Salamis,  at  Arbela  and 
Nehavend,  the  Persian  people  have  been  forced 
back  of  that  boundary  line  which  today  remains 
the  westernmost  limit  of  their  empire.  They  too 
have  a  Semitic  religion,  forced  on  them  by  Arab 
conquerors  whose  yoke  they  soon  afterward  threw 
off.  But  the  Mohammedanism  of  Persia  is  of  the 
Shia  schism,  a  sect  directly  antagonistic  to  that 
of  Arabia  and  Turkey,  while  the  spread  of  Islam 
in  Asia  has  been  due  to  Persian  influence  not  to 
Semitic,  which  has  always  been  almost  non-exist- 
ent, comparable  only  with  that  of  such  Western 
nations  as  Portugal  or  Italy. 

I  would  therefore  draw  the  line  between  East 
and  West  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  the  Turkish 
Empire  to  the  west  and  Persia  to  the  east.  Nor 
is  this  irreconcilable  with  the  physical  features,  as 
we  might  naturally  expect.  It  is  the  line  that 
separates  the  lowlands  of  the  Mediterranean 
basin  from  the  Iranian  plateau  and  the  Indian 
Ocean.  It  is  a  line  drawn  from  the  Persian  Gulf 
to  the  Black  Sea,  which  thus  become  the  gateposts, 


The  Gate  of  Asia  5 

between  which  have  passed  back  and  forth  the 
armies  of  the  rival  empires  that  have  sought  in 
vain  to  cross  the  natural  boundary  line,  the  real 
boundary  line  between  Europe  and  Asia. 

This  then  is  the  Gate  of  Asia.  Its  historical 
interest  may  well  be  imagined.  Its  ethnic  inter- 
est is  no  less,  for  in  it  the  rival  civilizations  are 
still  struggling  incessantly  for  supremacy.  Its 
scenic  beauty  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that 
its  mountains  and  plains  have  proved  such  effec- 
tive barriers  in  the  past.  Furthermore,  with  the 
gradual  decay  of  the  Eastern  powers,  the  Western 
nations  are  reaching  out  toward  the  Gate  of  Asia, 
and  we  may  now  expect  it  to  occupy  the  central 
position  in  the  Asiatic  jealousies  of  the  European 
empires. 

It  is  to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  this  impor- 
tant but  obscure  part  of  the  world  that  I  have 
written  the  following  pages. 


CHAPTER  II 

UP  THE  TIGRIS  TO  BAGDAD 

'"THE  building  of  the  Bagdad  Railway  will  soon 
1  make  the  city  of  the  Arabian  Nights  access- 
ible from  the  Mediterranean.  But  at  present  the 
only  route  by  which  modern  conveyances  are 
available  is  via  the  Persian  Gulf  from  India.  The 
British  India  Steam  Navigation  Company  carries 
the  English  mails  from  Bombay,  via  Kurachi,  on 
the  coast  of  Sind,  to  the  Persian  Gulf  ports  and 
Busra,  whence  a  Bagdad  company,  Messrs. 
Lynch,  carry  them  in  river  steamers  to  the  city  of 
the  kalifs.  By  this  route  I  had  elected  to  start 
my  journey,  and  I  left  Bombay  in  one  of  the 
British  India  steamers. 

At  Kurachi  I  joined  Edwin  Warfield,  who  was 
to  accompany  me  on  the  long  journey  from  India 
to  Constantinople.  The  object  of  our  expedition 
was  to  pursue  certain  scientific  studies  in  this 
borderland  of  Asia,  which  had  appealed  to  me 
especially  because  I  believed  the  unnoticed  and 
comparatively  insignificant  mountains  of  Kurdi- 
stan formed  an  important  link  between  the  moun- 
tain systems  of  Europe  and  Asia.  I  must  confess 

6 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  7 

however  that  the  most  fascinating  scientific  studies 
are  generally  overshadowed  by  the  intense  human 
interest  that  gathers  around  these  Eastern  lands. 
It  was  therefore  with  thoughts  of  romantic  Bagdad 
uppermost  in  our  minds  that  we  crossed  the  Ara- 
bian Sea,  and  started  our  six-day  voyage  up  the 
Persian  Gulf,  to  the  frontiers  of  Turkey. 

This  voyage  is  a  most  interesting  one  for,  though 
the  shores  of  the  Gulf  are  barren  and  bear  a  bad 
reputation,  there  is  a  grandeur  that  is  peculiar 
to  their  rugged  skylines,  and  a  strong  note  of  ad- 
venture in  the  tales  that  are  repeated  of  ordinary 
daily  happenings  among  the  coastal  towns  and 
upon  the  tepid,  oily  waters.  We  stopped  at 
Muscat,  a  hot,  white  Arab  city  with  a  little  rock- 
bound  harbour,  protected  by  miniature  castles. 

We  anchored  well  outside  the  forbidding  pro- 
montories, and  despite  the  fact  that  a  very  high 
sea  was  running,  were  quickly  surrounded  by  a 
swarm  of  belems,  the  long,  narrow  canoes  of  the 
Gulf.  The  port  doctor  gave  us  permission  to  go 
ashore  and  we  got  into  one  of  the  belems  by  going 
down  the  gangplank  and  leaping  at  the  narrow 
craft  as  it  rose  on  the  summit  of  a  wave.  Then 
we  were  paddled  into  the  harbour  and,  with  the 
utmost  skill,  were  landed  through  the  surf  on  a 
shingly  beach. 

As  we  walked  through  the  streets  of  the  little 
dirty  Arab  town  with  its  picturesque  but  diseased 
populace,  we  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  was 
once  the  capital  of  an  empire  that  stretched  from 


8  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  Persian  Gulf  to  Zanzibar.  In  those  days  the 
Sultan  of  Muscat  was  the  tyrant  of  the  Indian 
Ocean.  The  colonies  and  trading  stations  of  this 
thalassocrat  were  planted  throughout  the  Indies, 
as  well  as  on  the  African  coast,  and  even  as  far  as 
China.  He  controlled  the  pearl,  ivory,  and  black 
slave  markets,  and  grew  rich  on  the  products  of 
Arabia  and  the  farther  Indies.  Today  his  suc- 
cessor is  subject  to  British  rule,  with  the  position 
of  a  native  potentate  under  the  government  of 
Bombay.  He  lives  in  his  once  imperial  city  in  a 
tawdry  palace  and  occupies  himself  in  making 
apologies  for  the  misdeeds  of  his  unruly  subjects. 

We  dropped  in  to  see  the  American  consul  who 
had  a  tale  to  tell.  He  had  gone  a  few  miles  from 
the  coast  with  two  Americans  who  were  after 
date  shoots  for  a  California  plantation.  They 
got  out  well  enough,  but  were  waylaid  on  the 
return  trip,  and  fired  on.  Fortunately,  the  Arab  is 
a  notoriously  bad  shot,  so  no  one  was  hit.  But  it 
was  a  close  call  and  the  British  resident  called  on 
the  Sultan  for  an  explanation.  He  sent  for  the 
chief  of  the  guilty  tribe  and  that  gentleman  ex- 
pressed his  great  concern  at  the  insult  that  had 
been  offered  the  consul,  and  said  that  his  young 
men  had  made  a  mistake.  It  seems  they  took 
the  party  for  Englishmen;  had  they  known  they 
were  Americans,  and  consuls,  they  would  have 
shown  no  such  discourtesy. 

Muscat  is  surrounded  by  barren  cliffs  that 
closely  hem  it  in,  and  the  walls  and  streets  are 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  9 

glaring  white.  It  was  comfortable  enough  on 
that  February  day,  but  in  summer  the  heat  is 
terrific.  The  situation  of  Aden  is  salubrious  com- 
pared with  it. 

The  most  profitable  trade  in  this  part  of  the 
world  a  few  years  ago  was  the  illicit  export  of  arms 
from  the  British  ports  of  Muscat  and  Bahrein  to 
the  barren  shores  of  Persia  and  Beluchistan.  There 
they  were  received  by  caravans  and  carried  into 
Afghanistan,  whence  they  found  their  way  into  the 
hands  of  the  tribesmen  on  the  north-western  fron- 
tier of  India.  This  trade  was  mostly  in  the  hands 
of  a  group  of  coastal  tribes  whose  principal  source 
of  revenue  for  generations  has  been  piracy,  an  oc- 
cupation which  they  took  to  on  the  suppression 
of  the  slave  trade.  Their  stock  was  smuggled  to 
them  from  the  ports,  loaded  into  their  small  sailing 
vessels,  in  some  lonely  place  under  the  lee  of  a 
rocky  islet,  and  carried  across  the  Gulf  to  some 
equally  secret  cove  on  the  Persian  side.  Finding 
that  port  and  customs  police  were  unable  to  cope 
with  this  evil,  and  that  it  was  increasing  to  an 
alarming  extent,  the  British  Government  sent  a 
couple  of  antiquated  cruisers  up  into  the  tainted 
waters  and  established  a  regular  blockade. 

So  far  this  plan  has  succeeded  very  well  but  its 
continued  success  depends  upon  unrelaxed  vigi- 
lance. In  their  encounters  with  the  pirates  his 
Majesty's  bluejackets  generally  come  out  ahead, 
but  there  are  times  when  they  get  the  worst  of  it. 
Their  enemies  have  one  trick  that  has  not  infre- 


io  The  Gate  of  Asia 

quently  proved  fatal.  The  chase  in  shallow  waters 
has  to  be  carried  on  by  cutters,  and  the  pirates 
often  make  no  resistance  when  overhauled,  on 
account  of  the  superior  armament  of  their  attack- 
ers. So  they  come  about  in  the  lee  of  an  island 
in  such  a  way  that  the  cutter  can  only  come  along- 
side on  their  lee  side.  One  of  the  heavy  latteen 
sails  is  allowed  to  hang  carelessly  over  that  side, 
bellying  out  with  the  light  breeze  that  finds  its  way 
over  the  island,  while  several  of  the  crew  strive  to 
lash  it  to  the  spar.  But  when  the  cutter  comes  up 
they  cut  the  fastenings  and  drop  the  whole  mass 
on  the  English  sailors.  Immediately  the  Arabs 
take  to  their  oars  and  are  off  among  the  devious 
channels,  perhaps  pouring  a  volley  of  small  arms 
into  the  sail  by  way  of  a  farewell.  A  few  experi- 
ences of  this  sort  taught  the  British  officers  to 
approach  the  most  innocent  looking  craft  from 
the  windward  only.  But  there  were  other  tricks 
and  I  doubt  not  there  will  be  more,  as  long  as 
rifles  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold  on  the  Afghan 
border. 

We  met  H.  M.  S.  Perseus  on  our  way  up  the  Gulf 
and  hove  to  while  she  sent  for  her  mail  and  fresh 
vegetables,  which  were  taken  off  in  cutters.  This 
vessel  was  the  centre  of  interest  at  that  time  be- 
cause she  had  just  lost  a  cutter,  containing  an 
officer  and  thirteen  men,  who  were  on  patrol  duty. 
What  became  of  these  men  was  never  known;  a 
passenger  ship  picked  up  an  oar,  and  the  empty 
cutter  was  found  several  weeks  later,  but  there 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad          n 

was  no  trace  of  the  men,  nor  any  indication  of  the 
tragedy  by  which  they  had  lost  their  lives. 

We  stopped  later  at  Bushire,  the  centre  of  Brit- 
ish influence  in  southern  Persia.  The  consul  has 
a  gunboat  and  a  force  of  Indian  troops  to  back  him 
up,  and  the  town  is  therefore  fairly  quiet.  But 
the  interior  is  quite  a  different  matter.  The  roads 
are  absolutely  unsafe,  on  account  of  the  depreda- 
tions of  two  different  bodies,  the  tribesmen  and 
the  road  guards,  members  of  the  Persian  gendar- 
merie. The  former  have  always  been  plunderers, 
either  as  soldiers  in  the  Shah's  armies,  or  as  gentle- 
men of  the  road,  which  is  their  present  status. 
The  latter  have  received  practically  no  pay  since 
Russia  began  the  systematic  destruction  of  Persia's 
financial  integrity.  So  they  make  a  practice  of 
lifting  what  they  can  from  passing  caravans  for 
the  protection  they  do  not  pretend  to  afford.  They 
are  now  provided  in  part  with  Swedish  officers, 
whose  chief  aim  is  to  get  them  shut  up  in  barracks 
where  they  can  at  least  do  no  harm.  Once  in  a 
while  it  has  been  necessary  to  take  them  out 
against  the  Kizzil  Bash  tribesmen.  But  they  re- 
fuse to  attack  unless  they  are  in  overwhelming 
force ;  and  in  that  case  they  are  wont  to  slaughter 
their  enemy  to  a  man  and  plunder  his  strong- 
hold, decamping  in  small  parties  loaded  with  loot, 
despite  the  efforts  of  their  officers. 

The  only  troops  in  the  interior  at  the  time  of 
our  visit  were  two  companies  of  Deccan  riflemen, 
stationed  at  Shiraz,  a  hundred  miles  from  Bushire. 


12  The  Gate  of  Asia 

These  men  were  practically  in  a  state  of  siege  and 
in  constant  danger,  increased  by  the  fact  that 
Shiraz  is  the  religious  centre  of  southern  Persia 
and  one  of  the  most  fanatical  cities  in  the  Moham- 
medan world.  No  little  stir  was  created  shortly 
before  our  arrival  by  the  killing  of  one  of  the  offi- 
cers ;  and  several  riflemen  had  also  lost  their  lives. 
They  are  quite  helpless  and  can  do  nothing  to 
protect  the  roads.  The  British  consul  at  Bushire 
estimated  that,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  the  losses 
on  the  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  road  between 
the  two  places  amounting  to  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  sterling. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  of  the 
voyage  we  entered  the  Shatt-el-Arab,  the  com- 
bined Tigris  and  Euphrates  rivers.  Both  banks 
were  covered  with  groves  of  date  palms,  among 
which  appeared  occasionally  a  little  group  of  mud 
houses  or  a  flock  of  sheep.  A  British  oil  syndi- 
cate has  a  shipping  station  on  the  Persian  side  of 
the  river — which  here  forms  the  international 
boundary — but  otherwise  we  saw  no  considerable 
group  of  buildings  until  we  lay  off  the  Persian 
town  of  Mohammerah.  It  is  now  a  shipping  point 
of  no  little  importance,  which  will  greatly  increase 
upon  the  completion  of  the  projected  railway  into 
the  interior  to  Shuster  and  Dizful,  cities  of  great 
importance  which  are  now  isolated  by  the  wild 
tribes  that  keep  the  roads  practically  impassable. 
This  may  be  the  first  line  of  railway  in  Persia  if 
the  Russians  fail  to  push  their  plans  for  opening 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  13 

communication  by  rail  with  Tabriz  and  Tehran. 
This  is  a  matter  of  no  little  importance,  for  the 
progress  of  civilization  in  Persia  has  been  sadly 
hampered  by  the  fact  that  internal  prejudice  and 
external  jealousy  have  united  to  prevent  the 
building  of  railways. 

Mohammerah  is  lost  amid  groves  of  palms,  and 
nothing  was  to  t>e  seen  ashore  but  a  few  white  walls 
amid  the  green,  and  the  riverside  palace  of  the 
Sheikh  of  Mohammerah.  This  gentleman  has  been 
so  friendly  to  the  English  that  he  is  accorded  a 
salute  by  every  vessel  of  that  nation  that  passes 
his  extensive  flat-roofed  seraglio.  When  we 
dropped  anchor  in  midstream  off  the  town  we 
soon  became  the  centre  of  a  swarm  of  belems  and 
high-pooped  dhows,  the  former  for  passengers, 
the  latter  for  cargo. 

We  stopped  only  for  a  short  time  and  then  were 
off  again  between  the  beautiful  rows  of  palms. 
Among  them  began  to  appear  balconied  houses  of 
great  size,  homes  of  rich  landholders.  These  be- 
came more  and  more  frequent  until  we  dropped 
anchor,  late  in  the  afternoon,  before  the  town  of 
Busrah.  There  were  a  few  steamers  in  the  stream, 
and  the  bank  was  lined  with  characterless  brick 
buildings  half  hidden  among  palm-trees. 

We  had  no  time  to  examine  the  town,  for  we 
were  just  able  to  catch  one  of  Messrs.  Lynch's 
steamboats  for  Bagdad,  five  hundred  miles  away 
up  the  Tigris.  So  we  bade  farewell  to  the  officers 
of  the  Gulf  steamer,  and  our  fellow-passenger,  and 


14  The  Gate  of  Asia 

debarked  our  goods  into  a  couple  of  belems.  As 
we  did  so  we  were  favoured  by  a  Turk  in  European 
garb  who  claimed  to  be  a  customs  officer  and 
camped  upon  us  until  we  should  be  able  to  hire 
him  to  get  off.  This  we  succeeded  in  doing  when 
we  reached  the  river  steamer,  sending  him  away 
happy  with  a  varied  assortment  of  shillings  and 
rupees. 

It  was  quite  dark  as  he  left  us  and  we  found 
ourselves  on  a  barge,  loaded  with  bales,  that  was 
lashed  to  the  steamer's  starboard  side.  Over  this 
we  climbed  and  entered  the  brightly  lighted  cabin 
of  the  little  flat,  shallow-draft  river  steamer,  that 
was  to  be  our  home  for  the  coming  week.  Here 
we  met  the  genial  captain,  a  short,  stout  man  in  a 
formal  cutaway  coat,  striped  trousers,  and  flowered 
vest,  his  regular  costume,  as  we  discovered,  afloat 
or  ashore.  He  assigned  us  to  a  couple  of  large 
and  comfortable  staterooms  and  warned  us  of  the 
dinner  hour,  for  he  was  chief  steward  as  well  as 
skipper. 

He  proved  to  be  a  rare  good  fellow  and  a  most 
congenial  companion.  As  we  sat  together  at 
dinner,  our  first  in  Turkey,  he  told  us  something 
of  Busrah.  For  a  week  the  city  had  been  in  a 
state  of  siege  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  leave. 
The  besiegers  were  an  Arab  tribe  under  a  certain 
Sheikh  Abdi,  a  sort  of  free  lance  of  the  desert,  who 
led  his  tribe  whither  he  would,  or  could,  regardless 
of  the  Turkish  Government  or  the  recognized 
pasture  rights  of  others.  He  had  encroached 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  15 

upon  the  lands  occupied  by  the  people  of  the  city, 
and  it  was  feared  by  the  populace  that  he  would 
enter  it,  which  he  doubtless  did  not  at  all  intend 
to  do.  One  night  an  alarm  was  spread  and  all 
the  troops  were  hurried  out  in  the  dark  to  the 
edge  of  cultivation,  where  they  fired  into  the  desert 
for  hours.  It  was  afterward  discovered  that  the 
Arabs  had  moved  off  the  day  before  and  were 
farther  up  the  river,  quite  out  of  hearing  distance 
of  the  wild  fusillade.  After  that  things  had  begun 
to  clear  up  and  our  captain  had  gotten  permission 
to  leave,  but  had  delayed  a  few  hours  to  get  the 
India  mail  which  came  in  the  steamer  that  had 
brought  us  up  the  Gulf. 

The  next  morning  we  came  up  from  our  state- 
rooms into  the  sharp  clear  air  of  a  February  morn- 
ing. A  piercing  wind  was  blowing  in  our  faces 
but  when  we  had  pulled  down  our  caps  and  climbed 
to  the  level  of  the  bridge,  we  looked  out  over  a 
flat  desolate  landscape,  its  meagre  details  standing 
out  sharply  in  the  crystal  atmosphere.  We  were 
passing  through  a  country  as  flat  as  a  board, 
through  which  the  muddy  Tigris  wound  between 
sharp  clay  banks,  two  or  three  feet  high.  Here 
and  there,  in  charge  of  slender  Arab  boys,  a  flock 
of  sheep,  mottled  and  blotched  and  spotted  with 
black,  brown,  and  white  in  amazing  combinations, 
were  to  be  seen  grazing  on  patches  of  dry  grass. 
There  were  reedy  marshlands  from  which  flocks 
of  ducks  rose  at  the  sound  of  the  steamer.  And 
finally  a  little  village  of  reed  huts,  rendered  pic- 


16  The  Gate  of  Asia 

turesque  by  a  mud-walled  corral  on  one  side, 
guarded  by  a  dilapidated  tower,  completed  the 
landscape. 

Our  steamer  was  specially  built  for  this  Tigris 
River  traffic  and  was  the  first  stern-wheeler  to 
appear  in  these  waters.  But  her  first  appearance 
was  far  from  favourable,  and  though  the  name  on 
her  bow  was  Julnar  she  came  to  be  known  as  the 
Jonah.  She  carried  a  considerable  weight  of 
cargo  in  the  broad,  shallow  hold  and  in  two  barges 
lashed  to  the  sides.  She  had  accommodation 
for  about  a  dozen  cabin  passengers,  which  was 
placed  well  forward,  in  the  shape  of  a  comfortable 
deckhouse  of  which  the  roof  made  a  spacious 
promenade.  The  engine  room  was  amidships 
and  another  deckhouse  aft  served  for  the  crew's 
quarters.  The  cook's  galley  was  a  little  space  on 
deck  under  the  lee  of  the  cabin.  A  large  number 
of  deck  passengers,  chiefly  Arabs,  were  carried  in 
the  after  part  of  the  boat,  wherever  they  could 
spread  a  mattress. 

Around  the  bridge  and  engine  room  were  strong 
plates  of  boiler  iron,  to  protect  the  officers  from 
shore  attack.  These  men  were  all  English,  except 
the  Scotch  engineer,  and  there  was  not  one  that 
had  not  stood  to  wheel  or  speaking  tube  when 
rifles  were  cracking  on  the  bank  and  bullets  ping- 
ing against  the  useful  boiler  iron.  The  crew  were 
Chaldeans,  native  Christians,  from  a  village  to 
the  north  of  Mosul,  which  we  were  to  visit  later. 
These  men  of  Tel  Kaif  have  always  been  employed 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  17 

in  this  service  and  have  come  to  be  a  sort  of  hered- 
itary guild  that  would  deeply  resent  any  devia- 
tion from  the  practice  of  employing  them  only. 
As  a  rule  they  make  excellent  servants  and  can 
often  be  trusted  to  an  extent  unusual  among 
Oriental  peoples. 

The  captain  soon  joined  us  on  deck  and  pointed 
out  a  grove  of  palms  some  distance  away  on  the 
starboard  bow.  Among  the  trees  we  could  see  a 
blue  dome,  which  he  told  us  was  the  tomb  of  Ezra. 
As  we  came  forging  our  way  up  the  winding  stream 
to  those  stately  trees  and  that  ancient  memorial 
of  bygone  days,  its  yellow  bricks  blending  with 
the  river  clay,  its  bright  blue  tiles  flashing  back 
the  eastern  sun  from  dome  and  minaret,  we  real- 
ized that  we  had  indeed  reached  the  land  of 
Babylonian  and  Persian,  of  Hebrew  prophet  and 
Arab  poet. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  we  passed  miserable 
little  villages  of  reed  huts,  inhabited  by  the  mean- 
est of  the  Arab  tribes.  Abu  Muhamed  they  are 
called,  or  the  people  of  El  Batihat,  the  swamp. 
They  do  a  little  cultivating,  chiefly  of  dates,  but 
their  wealth  is  in  their  sheep,  and  they  also  earn  a 
little  money  by  digging  the  liquorice  root  which 
abounds  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  the 
diggers  pile  it  up  in  big  black  stacks  and  leave  it 
until  the  boats  of  the  trading  company  pick  it 
up.  It  remains  unguarded,  but  perfectly  safe, 
in  a  country  where  raiding  and  every  sort  of  law- 
lessness is  the  rule ;  for  the  Arab  may  plunder  and 


1 8  The  Gate  of  Asia 

slay,  but  he  is  no  sneak  thief  and  will  not  violate 
a  cache. 

In  these  riverside  villages  the  dour,  ill-kempt  men 
gazed  at  us  indifferently,  while  bare-legged,  black- 
eyed  women  and  children  ran  along  the  bank 
offering  us  fowls,  eggs,  truffles,  curds,  or  salt,  with 
shrill  cries,  haggling  excitedly  over  every  article. 
One  old  woman  ran  for  miles  bargaining  over  a 
lean  and  ragged  cock,  which  she  finally  sold  to  a 
deck  passenger  for  two  piastres  (eight  cents). 
The  bargain  concluded  she  threw  the  cock  aboard, 
the  passenger  at  the  same  time  throwing  two 
coins  on  shore.  These  were  promptly  seized  and 
examined,  whereupon  they  proved  to  be  quarter 
piastre  pieces.  Outwitted,  the  old  hag  burst  into 
tears  and  ran  along  another  mile  or  so,  pleading 
pitifully  until  her  much-amused  customer  relented 
and  tossed  her  the  rest  of  the  money. 

One  day  we  passed  a  wing  of  Sheikh  Abdi's 
tribe  of  nomadic  Muntifik  Arabs,  that  had  been 
terrorizing  Busrah.  The  size  of  these  wandering 
tribes  is  tremendous,  and  when  seen  on  the  march 
with  their  flocks  and  herds,  they  present  a  front 
several  miles  long.  These  people  on  this  occasion 
were  even  more  spread  out,  and  for  a  whole  day 
we  were  not  out  of  sight  of  herds  of  grazing  camels, 
flocks  of  sheep,  or  groups  of  black  tents.  The 
camel  is  their  most  important  domestic  animal, 
occupying  the  same  place  that  the  ox  does  in  the 
West.  Camels  live  chiefly  on  dry  brush  and  a  very 
little  grass  when  they  can  get  it.  As  this  fodder 


.g 

I 

I 

a 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  19 

makes  little  enough  milk  they  have  to  be  kept  in 
great  numbers,  in  order  to  supply  the  tribe,  which, 
during  much  of  the  year,  lives  on  curds  and  dates. 
The  latter  are  bought  from  the  sedentary  tribes 
in  exchange  for  the  male  camels,  which  are  used 
as  pack  animals,  breeding  stock  only  being  kept 
by  the  nomads.  Usually  only  old  beasts  are 
killed  for  food,  or  young  colts  whose  dams'  milk 
cannot  be  spared  when  water  or  pasturage  is 
scarce. 

The  herds  we  saw  were  all  composed  of  females 
with  their  ungainly  little  colts,  that  danced  about 
making  absurd  leaps  and  bucks  in  their  fright  at  the 
passing  steamer.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  we 
saw  hundred  of  these  beasts,  and  there  must  be 
thousands  more  belonging  to  the  same  tribe. 

We  stopped  for  several  hours  to  take  on  coal 
at  the  large  village  of  Kut.  Here  a  Turkish  official, 
conspicuous  in  European  dress  and  fez,  came 
aboard  to  inspect  our  papers  before  we  were  per- 
mitted to  land.  He  was  paddled  out  in  a  goufa,  the 
curious  circular  boat  of  this  country,  where  wood  is 
too  scarce  to  use  for  boat-building.  It  is  the  "ark 
of  bulrushes,  pitched  within  and  without  with 
pitch,"  with  which  we  are  familiar  in  Holy  Writ. 
Receiving  permission  we  stepped  ashore  and 
threaded  our  way  through  the  motley  crowd  on  the 
bank  into  the  narrow  streets.  Projecting  from  the 
upper  stories  of  many  of  the  burnt-brick  houses 
were  mysteriously  screened  bay-windows,  remind- 
ing us  of  the  secret  romances  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 


20  The  Gate  of  Asia 

We  passed  into  a  dusky  arched  bazaar.  Here  by 
the  door  were  freshly  slaughtered  sheep  and  near 
by  charcoal  braziers  where  a  choice  morsel  may  be 
broiled  and  tasted  before  the  whole  quarter  is 
bought.  There  the  next  range  of  stalls  belonged 
to  the  green-grocers,  who  display  dates,  cucumbers, 
rice,  onions,  lentils,  and  the  less  interesting  but 
more  evident  garlic.  Beyond,  in  niches  on  either 
side  of  the  way,  under  the  same  arched  roof  were 
the  tobacconists.  We  stopped  to  watch  a  boy 
preparing  a  bundle  of  paper  tubes  which  we  recog- 
nized as  empty  cigarettes.  These  he  tied  together 
and,  setting  them  on  a  board,  filled  them  by  pour- 
ing finely  chopped  tobacco  into  their  upturned 
ends  and  shaking  it  down.  The  Arab  rolls  his 
cigarette  before  he  fills  it,  an  operation  which 
makes  it  possible  to  fill  several  hundred  at  once. 

Passing  through  the  village  we  came  to  an 
orchard  of  palm-trees  where  we  found  a  youngster 
playing  beside  an  irrigating  ditch  with  a  tiny 
waterwheel  of  twigs.  His  fathers  had  faced  the 
water  supply  problem  every  day  of  their  lives 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  their  youthful  successor 
should  ponder  over  the  same  question  in  his  idle 
moments  among  the  rustling  palms. 

Before  we  reached  our  destination  we  made 
another  stop  amid  far  different  scenes.  On  a  neck 
of  land  where  the  Tigris  makes  a  great  bend  stood 
once  the  ancient  city  of  Ctesiphon,  capital  of  the 
Sassanian  rulers  of  Persia.  Standing  today  amidst 
the  desolation  of  shapeless  mounds  is  a  single 


C 

I 


o 


a 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  21 

building  of  enormous  size,  the  palace  of  Chosroes, 
built  in  the  year  550  A.D.  The  walls  and  vaulted 
roof  of  the  great  hall  still  remain  standing,  and 
the  front  wall  of  the  south  wing.  The  appearance 
of  the  great  ruin  is  very  strange,  quite  different 
from  any  other  ruin  in  this  part  of  the  East.  On 
the  left  is  the  huge  curtain  of  the  wing,  a  brick 
wall  so  thick  that  it  stands  alone  to  a  height  of 
over  a  hundred  feet.  It  is  pierced  by  a  single 
arched  doorway  of  magnificent  proportions,  but 
dwarfed  by  the  vastness  of  the  whole  building, 
and  the  whole  face  of  the  brickwork  is  further 
varied  by  a  number  of  very  shallow  niches  marked 
by  engaged  columns. 

To  the  right  is  the  great  hall,  its  south  wall 
forming  an  angle  with  that  end  of  the  wing. 
Across  its  width  stretches  the  largest  vaulted  roof 
in  the  world,  a  lofty  ovoid  barrel  vault,  spanning 
a  hall  eighty-six  feet  wide.  Its  proportions  are 
excellent,  for  though  its  height,  ninety-five  feet, 
is  only  slightly  greater  than  the  span,  so  perfect  is 
the  curve  that  it  appears  far  greater.  The  whole 
front  of  this  great  hall  is  open  and  apparently 
never  was  closed  by  anything  more  permanent 
than  a  tremendous  tapestry  that  measured,  ac- 
cording to  the  Arab  historian  Tabari,  sixty  by 
seventy  cubits.  It  was  ornamented  with  a  design 
representing  a  garden  in  which  the  ground  was  of 
gold,  the  paths  of  silver,  the  meadows  emeralds, 
the  streams  pearls,  and  the  trees,  flowers,  and 
fruits,  diamonds  and  other  stones.  The  back  is 


22  The  Gate  of  Asia 

closed  by  a  massive  brick  wall  pierced  only  by  a 
doorway  and  two  windows. 

The  Sassanian  dynasty,  one  of  the  members  of 
which  built  this  palace,  was  founded  in  the  third 
century  after  Christ  by  a  Persian  prince,  Ardashir, 
who  succeeded  in  sweeping  away  the  last  remnant 
of  the  Parthian  power.  His  capital,  so  far  as  he 
had  any,  was  in  Persia,  but  his  successors  found 
that  a  Mesopotamian  capital  was  necessary  as  a 
base  from  which  to  carry  on  their  constant  wars 
with  the  Roman-Byzantine  Empire.  The  chief  city 
in  the  Tigris  valley  was  then  the  Greek  city  state 
of  Seleucia,  named  for  Alexander's  successor  in 
this  region,  Seleucus  Nicator;  its  ruined  walls  are 
still  to  be  seen  opposite  Ctesiphon.  Hither  Sapor 
I.  brought  the  stuffed  skin  of  the  Emperor  Vale- 
rian, whom  he  had  taken  in  battle  in  the  year  260 
A.D.,  and  set  it  up  in  his  palace.  This  city  served 
as  a  base  for  Sapor  II.  in  his  campaigns  against  the 
Roman  fortresses  in  the  Tigris  valley  in  360.  To  it 
he  retreated  when  the  Emperor  Julian  defeated  him, 
and  there  he  would  have  been  taken  prisoner  had 
not  the  pagan  priests  of  the  apostate  Emperor 
found  the  sacrifices  unfavourable  for  an  attack. 
Those  omens  caused  the  downfall  of  Roman  power 
in  the  East,  for  they  persuaded  Julian  to  leave  the 
terrified  Sapor  and  cross  the  Tigris.  There  he  met 
an  army  of  mountaineers,  hastily  gathered  to- 
gether to  relieve  Seleucia,  and  was  killed  in  the 
battle  that  ensued.  He  was  a  strong  man  but 
was  born  out  of  his  time  to  the  heritage  of  a  fast 


Door  in  the  Wall  that  Once  Fronted  the  Left  Wing  of  the  Palace 
at  Ctesiphon 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  23 

decaying  empire.  He  was  succeeded  by  the 
weakling  Jovian,  who  retired  to  Asia  Minor  leaving 
Sapor  in  undisputed  control  of  the  East. 

He  was  succeeded  by  a  strong  line  of  powerful 
princes.  But  we  need  concern  ourselves  only 
with  Anushirvan  the  Just,  Chosroes,  who  in  540 
took  Antioch  in  Syria  and  the  neighbouring  city  of 
Seleucia  on  the  Orontes,  whose  inhabitants  he 
transported  to  the  Tigris  valley,  to  Seleucia  of 
Mesopotamia.  Here  he  settled  them  on  the  east 
bank  of  the  river,  founding  the  city  we  know  to- 
day as  Ctesiphon.  This  Chosroes  proved  himself 
a  worthy  successor  of  Sapor  by  carrying  fire  and 
sword  into  the  marches  of  Rome.  But  his  noblest 
work  was  the  building  of  the  great  hall  which  the 
Arabs  call  today  by  the  name  Takht-i-Khesra,  the 
throne  of  Chosroes. 

The  dynasty  lasted  only  a  century  longer,  how- 
ever, for  the  great  climatic  change  which  had 
already  affected  the  Persians  was  spreading  far- 
ther and  driving  the  Arabs  out  of  the  desert. 
The  great  tide  of  Mohammedan  invasion  swept 
over  Ctesiphon  into  Persia,  and  carried  away  with 
it  the  boy  king,  Yazdegird,  the  last  of  the  Sassa- 
nids.  The  historians  of  that  day  chronicle  a  vast 
plunder  as  the  result  of  the  conquest  of  the  city 
and  tell  of  the  amazement  created  in  the  minds  of 
all  at  the  sight  of  the  noble  palace. 

So  impressed  were  the  wild  conquerors,  newly  em- 
erged from  the  desert,  that  they  did  not  deface  the 
paintings  on  the  walls  of  the  hall,  much  to  the  dis- 


24  The  Gate  of  Asia 

gust  of  the  historian  who  chronicles  the  fact  and  who 
assures  us  that  this  was  most  unusual  for  Moham- 
medans. But  two  centuries  later  the  old  building 
had  a  narrow  escape  from  destruction  at  the  hands 
of  the  Kalif  Mansur,  who  wished  to  use  its  bricks 
to  build  his  new  city  of  Bagdad.  He  was  an  Arab, 
a  race  that  have  shown  themselves  the  most  de- 
termined iconoclasts  throughout  their  history. 
But  his  Vizier,  Khalid,  was  of  a  different  stamp, 
for  he  was  a  Persian,  a  member  of  the  powerful 
Barmecid  family  with  which  we  are  familiar 
through  the  Arabian  Nights.  He  sought  to  dis- 
suade his  master  from  his  barbarous  intention, 
but  in  vain.  However,  his  intercession  proved  to 
be  needless,  for  the  great  mass  of  the  ruin  saved 
it,  and  the  iconoclastic  Kalif  found  his  resources 
insufficient  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  His  expe- 
rience was  much  like  that  of  Saladin  who  sought 
to  use  the  pyramids  to  build  his  citadel  at  Cairo, 
but  succeeded  only  in  stripping  off  the  outer 
sheath. 

In  the  days  of  the  kalifs  this  place  was  the  site 
of  a  group  of  cities  called  collectively  Al-Madain, 
the  Cities.  Ctesiphon  itself  came  to  be  called 
Al-Madinah-al-Atikah,  the  Old  City,  and  was  a 
centre  of  great  importance.  All  that  remains 
today  is  a  dirty  little  mud  village  full  of  barking 
dogs  and  unhealthy  children.  But  there  is  one 
relic  of  Arab  days  that  deserves  notice,  the  tomb 
of  Salman  the  Persian,  one  of  the  Companions  of 
the  Prophet.  It  is  in  a  compound  surrounded  by 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  25 

a  ruined  wall  and  groves  of  palms.  The  inner 
court  can  be  entered  only  by  a  massive  gateway 
before  which  is  the  village  square,  the  lounging 
place  of  a  set  of  dirty  natives  and  fanatical  mol- 
lahs.  A  well  is  before  the  gate,  supplied  by  a  ditch 
from  the  Tigris,  half  a  mile  away.  Men  were 
filling  waterskins  carried  by  donkeys  when  we 
passed  and  entered  the  gate.  As  we  did  so  a  roar 
of  voices  rose  in  the  square  and  a  crowd  gathered, 
almost  instantly,  to  see  what  would  happen  to  the 
infidels  that  dared  attempt  to  enter  so  sacred  a 
place.  At  our  left  was  a  pile  of  rubbish  on  which 
sat  a  beggar,  and  opposite,  across  the  empty  court, 
was  the  tomb-mosque,  a  low  flat-roofed  building 
with  three  large  arched  doorways.  Above  it  rose 
the  octagonal  roof  of  the  tomb  itself,  covered  by 
a  squat  onion  dome.  I  had  only  time  to  raise  my 
camera  and  make  a  hasty  snap-shot  of  the  scene 
when  we  were  turned  back  by  an  indignant  priest 
who  appeared  from  the  shadow  of  some  palms. 
Out  we  went  again  into  the  village  square  amid 
the  hoots  and  laughter  of  the  crowd. 

We  forthwith  shook  the  dust  of  the  village  from 
our  feet  and  in  ten  minutes  had  reached  the  river. 
We  went  by  a  desert  road  with  no  sign  of  vegeta- 
tion on  either  side.  But  there  were  numbers  of 
little  grey  tufted  larks,  and  a  pair  of  plover  flew 
over  our  heads  from  the  bank  of  an  irrigating 
ditch.  Beside  the  river  we  sat  down  in  a  pome- 
granate orchard  on  deep  beds  of  fresh  green  grass 
and  waited  for  our  steamer,  which  had  taken  all 


26  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  afternoon  to  round  a  loop  only  a  mile  across 
at  the  neck  which  is  the  site  of  Chosroes'  palace. 

It  was  on  the  seventh  morning  that  we  were 
aroused  from  slumber  by  demands  of  "Pass! 
Pass!"  We  jumped  up  in  our  pajamas  to  face 
officials  in  blue  and  grey  uniforms  with  astrakhan 
fezes,  whom  we  soon  discovered  wanted  our 
passports.  These  were  examined,  their  numbers 
and  our  names  taken,  and  police  objection  to  our 
presence  declared  removed.  We  dressed  in  haste, 
gathered  together  our  possessions,  and  stepped  on 
deck.  There  before  us  lay  the  city  of  our  dreams. 

We  lay  beside  the  business  section  crowded 
with  flat-roofed  buildings  with  here  and  there  the 
low  domes  of  a  caravanserai.  Beyond  were  the 
serried  windows  of  the  custom-house  and  farther 
still  the  lofty  domes  of  the  serai,  the  government 
buildings.  Rising  here  and  there  above  the  welter 
of  houses,  distinct  against  the  sky,  was  an  occa- 
sional brightly  tiled  minaret  or  a  disconsolate 
but  majestic  palm-tree.  Upon  all  was  the  un- 
mistakable stamp  of  the  happy-go-lucky  indif- 
ference of  the  Orient:  the  minarets  all  leaned, 
sometimes  at  a  most  precarious  angle ;  the  domes 
bulged  incontinently;  the  windows  were  patched 
with  regard  neither  for  beauty  nor  usefulness. 
We  were  anchored  just  below  a  bridge,  a  sagging 
plank  roadway  supported  by  battered  hulks  that 
did  duty  for  pontoons.  A  tipsy-looking  railing 
offered  a  doubtful  protection  to  a  surging  crowd. 
Clad  in  the  dusty  brown  and  rusty  black  Arab 


A  Tigris  Water  Hoist  at  Work.     The  Leather  Bags  are  Drawn 
up  by  Animals 


Up  the  Tigris  to  Bagdad  27 

robes  they  passed  and  repassed  unceasingly  to  or 
from  the  western  bank.  This  bank  contrasts 
curiously  with  its  neighbour.  Instead  of  the 
crowded  jumble  of  buildings  each  lost  in  the  em- 
brace of  its  neighbours  there  is  a  long  row  of 
picturesque,  sprawling,  '  flat-roofed  dwelling- 
houses,  terraced  and  balconied,  topped  by  in- 
numerable palms.  Interspersed  among  the  houses 
are  high-walled  gardens  filled  with  these  tall 
sentinels  of  every  Eastern  gateway,  drawn  up 
rank  on  rank  as  if  to  answer  to  some  morning 
roll-call. 

We  found  the  custom-house  had  not  yet  opened 
for  the  day  but  that  difficulty  was  overcome  by 
the  judicious  use  of  a  rupee.  Our  baggage  was 
thrown  into  a  goufa  and  we  jumped  into  another 
and  were  paddled  downstream  a  few  hundred 
yards  to  our  hotel.  We  landed  at  a  hole  in  a 
brick  wall  which  we  found  gave  access  to  a  flight 
of  steps  leading  up  to  a  paved,  arboured  terrace. 
From  this  we  gained  access  to  the  building  where 
we  were  received  by  mine  host,  one  Fransu,  a 
Chaldaean.  He  showed  us  to  a  room  looking 
across  the  river  and  we  had  a  chance  to  glance 
about  our  new  quarters.  The  house  is  a  typical 
dwelling  of  the  better  class.  It  is  built  around  two 
courts,  one  for  the  service  quarters  and  the  other 
for  the  living  and  sleeping  rooms.  The  first  floor 
is  very  low  and  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  a  base- 
ment. The  heavy  walls  are  hung  with  rugs  and 
the  massive  vaulted  brick  ceiling  seems  unneces- 


28  The  Gate  of  Asia 

sary.  The  rooms  above  present  a  strange  contrast. 
They  are  light  and  airy  with  many  windows  and 
light  hangings.  Above  are  flat  roofs  with  high 
parapets.  This  arrangement  is  made  on  account 
of  the  climate.  In  summer  the  thermometer 
regularly  registers  over  105  degrees  at  noon,  and 
during  the  twenty-four  hours  a  variation  from 
112  degrees  to  120  degrees  has  been  recorded 
in  very  hot  weather.  During  the  blazing  noons 
the  people  live  in  their  lower  stories  or  serdabs, 
where  the  heavy  brickwork  keeps  out  the  heat  of 
the  sun  and  the  dark  hangings  rest  the  eye  from 
the  glare.  At  night  the  whole  family  sleeps  on  the 
roof  where  a  brief  respite  is  found  and  sleep  under 
the  brilliant  stars  is  possible.  In  the  winter 
months,  however,  the  mercury  often  drops  below 
the  freezing  point,  though  the  sun  usually  sheds  a 
balmy  warmth  at  noon.  During  this  season  the 
upper  rooms,  more  cheerful  than  the  serdabs,  more 
protected  than  the  roofs,  are  found  most  comfort- 
able. 


CHAPTER  III 

BAGDAD,    CITY   OF  THE   KALIFS 

'"THERE  are  certain  names  of  cities  that  are 
A  endowed  with  a  rare  poetic  feeling  that  never 
fails  to  stir  romantic  sensations  in  our  breasts. 
Whether  it  is  by  reason  of  the  musical  quality  of 
their  syllables,  or  merely  the  associations  that 
have  grouped  around  them  in  nursery  tales  or 
familiar  poems,  I  hesitate  to  say.  But  it  is  cer- 
tainly true  that  however  tender  the  romance, 
however  beautiful  the  poem,  there  are  certain 
names  so  full  of  glamour  and  music  that  they 
cannot  fail  to  add  to  its  fascination.  Such  a  name 
is  Mandalay,  which  I  think  would  live  for  us  with 
its  sunshine,  and  its  palm-trees,  and  its  tinkly 
temple  bells,  even  if  Kipling  had  not  used  it  to 
embellish  one  of  his  most  popular  poems.  Gol- 
conda  never  fails  to  suggest  great  store  of  myste- 
riously gotten  wealth,  and  Ispahan  shall  never 
cease  to  be  a  name  full  of  the  scent  of  the  rose  and 
the  music  of  dancing-girls.  Samarcand  is  a  name 
of  similar  significance  and  even  Astrakhan  has 
not  become  too  common  to  call  up  visions  of 
Tartar  Khans.  But  one  of  the  most  familiar  of 

29 


30  The  Gate  of  Asia 

these  names,  one  that  is  most  intimately  associated 
with  mystic  legend,  is  that  of  Bagdad.  Such  a 
mass  of  fable  surrounds  this  name  that  it  seems 
almost  impossible  that  such  a  place  should  exist 
in  fact.  Like  Xanadu  it  seems  an  enchanted 
place,  situated  upon  the  banks  of  a  fairy  river, 
that  appears  on  earth  only  long  enough  to  lave 
the  palace  walls.  We  think  of  it  as  the  home  of 
one  man,  Harun-al-Rashid.  Its  raison  d'etre  to 
most  of  us  is  a  group  of  tales,  in  which  lamps,  and 
jars,  and  carpets,  play  parts  that  were  never  in- 
tended for  such  articles  to  play. 

Such  at  least  was  my  early  impression  of  the 
city  of  the  kalifs,  and  it  was  with  visions  of 
the  Arabian  Nights  that  I  set  out  to  wander  in 
the  streets  of  Bagdad. 

Of  the  ancient  history  of  the  towns  that  pre- 
ceded Bagdad  upon  the  same  site  we  know  prac- 
tically nothing.  Babylonian  bricks  have  been 
discovered  far  beneath  the  level  of  the  modern  city, 
and  in  the  days  of  Chosroes  there  was  a  market 
town  of  some  local  importance  in  the  same  place. 
But  Bagdad  itself  was  founded  in  the  eighth  cen- 
tury of  our  era  by  Mansur,  who  made  it  his  capital, 
assuming  to  himself  the  dignity  of  Kalif,  the 
successor  of  the  Prophet,  and  head  of  the  religion 
of  Islam. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Mohammed  pro- 
vided that  he  should  be  succeeded  by  a  duly  elected 
Kalif  from  the  tribe  of  the  Koreish,  the  hitherto 
unimportant  tribe  from  which  the  quondam  camel 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs         31 

driver  sprang.  The  first  selections  were  made  from 
his  companions,  or  disciples,  and  lived  in  the  holy 
city  of  Mecca  until  two  of  them,  Omar  and  Ali, 
disputed  the  succession.  The  former  found  his 
support  in  Syria,  where  he  practically  had  made 
his  home  in  Damascus.  Thence  he  conducted 
military  operations  against  his  rival,  whose  sup- 
porters were  the  people  of  Mesopotamia.  There 
Omar  succeeded  in  overthrowing  Ali,  whence  the 
latter  fled  to  Persia,  where  he  set  up  to  be  the 
lawful  successor  of  the  Prophet  with  the  title  of 
Imam,  which  he  handed  down  to  his  descendants 
by  Fatimah,  daughter  of  Mohammed  himself.  He 
was  succeeded  by  eleven  Imams  who  are  the  chief 
saints,  with  Ali,  of  the  Shia  sect  which  now 
comprises  practically  all  the  Persians. 

Omar  made  Damascus  his  capital,  and  founded 
there  the  hereditary  Omayyad  Kalifate.  His 
followers  formed  the  Sunni  sect,  which  is  the 
orthodox  sect  of  Islam,  and  includes  most  of  the 
Arabs,  the  Turks,  and  the  Moslems  of  India  and 
China.  The  Omayyads  were  twelve  in  number 
and  ruled  most  of  the  Moslem  world  for  a  century, 
spreading  their  empire  across  North  Africa  to 
Spain.  The  last  of  them  was  overthrown  by  the 
Abbasid  Mansur,  who  established  his  dynasty  in 
his  new  city  of  Bagdad.  This  dynasty  was  essen- 
tially Asiatic  and  the  Western  conquests  gradually 
fell  away.  First  an  Omayyad  set  up  an  independ- 
ent Kalifate  in  Spain,  with  Cordova  as  his  capi- 
tal, and  a  century  later  Egypt  became  the  centre 


32  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  another  dynasty,  the  Fatimids  of  Cairo,  and 
Syria  soon  fell  to  their  possession.  But  the  Abba- 
sids  retained,  nevertheless,  a  very  large  empire, 
stretching  from  Syria  and  western  Asia  Minor  to 
Central  Asia,  the  Afghan  mountains,  and  the 
western  frontiers  of  India.  For  five  centuries 
they  ruled  with  Bagdad  as  their  capital  for  all  but 
a  few  decades,  when  the  royal  residence  was 
moved  up  the  Tigris  a  short  distance  to  Samarra. 
During  all  that  period  they  had  no  serious 
enemies  except  the  Byzantine  emperors,  with 
whom  they  were  at  constant  war.  Their  over- 
throw was  finally  accomplished  by  the  Mongols 
under  Hulagu  Khan,  who  took  Bagdad  in  1258. 
In  the  sack  that  followed,  the  last  of  the  line  was 
killed,  and  the  city  was  reduced  for  a  time  almost 
to  a  heap  of  ruins. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  Bagdad  was  taken  by 
the  Sultan  Suleiman  the  Magnificent,  ally  of  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.,  who  marched  eastward  after 
his  unsuccessful  siege  of  Vienna  and  had  himself 
proclaimed  Kalif  in  the  city  of  the  Abassids. 
From  him  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  has  claimed  the 
lawful  succession  to  the  Kalif  ate,  and  is  recog- 
nized today  as  the  successor  of  the  Prophet 
by  the  orthodox,  or  Sunni,  Moslems.  This  is 
in  direct  opposition  to  the  provision  of  Moham- 
med himself  that  none  but  a  member  of  the 
tribe  of  Koreish  might  succeed  him,  which  fact 
furnishes  the  Shias  with  their  reason  for  deny- 
ing the  authority  of  the  Sultan.  The  Sunnis 


•'• 


1 

£ 

5 

<! 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          33 

overcome  this  difficulty  with  characteristic  Orien- 
tal sophistry. 

The  model  of  Bagdad  was  the  older  Persian 
capital  Ctesiphon,  situated  only  a  few  miles  away. 
Doubtless  also  most  of  the  builders  employed  by 
Mansur  were  Persians,  for  his  desert  Arabs  were 
not  versed  in  that  art.  Persian  influence  was 
conspicuous  from  the  first,  and  the  chief  advisers 
of  the  Abbasids  were  all  Persians  until  the  time 
of  Harun-al-Rashid.  They  belonged  to  the  famous 
Barmecid  family  whose  power  began  with  Khalid, 
Mansur's  Vizier,  and  ended  with  Jaffar,  who  used 
to  accompany  his  master  Harun  in  his  incognito 
excursions  through  the  streets  of  his  capital,  in 
search  of  adventures  that  are  familiar  to  every 
child.  Despite  his  romantic  picturesqueness, 
Harun  was  a  weakling  and  like  many  another 
Oriental  tyrant  his  last  days  were  marked  with 
shocking  cruelties,  of  which  one  of  the  worst  was 
the  slaughter  of  the  whole  Barmecid  family  at  a 
feast  that  has  become  a  proverb  with  us  today. 

This  influence  has  made  Bagdad  essentially 
Persian  in  appearance.  Especially  is  this  true  of 
the  sacred  edifices  in  which  the  domes  and  minarets 
are  quite  like  those  of  Ispahan  and  Meshed,  and 
bear  no  resemblance  to  the  more  familiar  types 
of  Western  Islam  to  be  seen  at  Cairo  and  Con- 
stantinople. This  is  true  despite  the  fact  that  of 
Mansur's  original  "Round  City"  no  vestige 
remains  above  ground,  and  of  buildings  that  date 
back  to  the  days  of  the  Abbasids  we  have  but  few. 


34  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  modern  city  is  situated  below  it,  mainly 
on  the  east  bank  while  the  older  city  was  on  the 
west.  The  western  quarter  is  small  and  almost 
entirely  Shia,  a  great  stopping-place  for  the 
thousands  of  Persian  pilgrims  that  pass  through 
every  year  on  their  way  to  and  from  their  sacred 
city  of  Kerbela.  There  are  also  many  permanent 
Persian  residents  whose  chief  business  is  with  the 
pilgrims,  and  who  look  after  the  graves  of  their 
seventh  and  ninth  Imams  which  are  just  outside 
the  city  at  Kazimein. 

The  east  bank  is  essentially  Arab  and  contains 
the  principal  bazaars,  the  great  mosque,  and  all 
the  vSunni  mosques  and  tombs.  This  quarter 
originally  grew  up  around  the  palaces  of  some  of 
the  later  kalifs  and  was  surrounded  by  a  semicir- 
cular wall.  This  is  now  practically  in  ruins,  being 
but  a  series  of  mounds  with  a  depression  where 
the  moat  was.  A  few  gates  remain  that  date  from 
the  days  of  the  Kalif  ate,  but  others  have  been  built 
in  Turkish  times.  Of  interest  to  the  antiquary 
are  two  relics  of  the  Kalif  Mustansir  dating  from 
1233  and  1236.  The  first  of  these  was  originally 
a  college  and  is  now  used  as  a  custom-house;  the 
latter  is  a  minaret  in  an  outlying  part  of  the  city, 
which  is  in  a  most  unfortunate  state  of  disrepair. 
Even  older  is  the  Khan  Orthma  which  dates  from 
the  twelfth  century  and  contains  some  beautiful 
carvings.  These  buildings,  built  for  strength,  were 
all  of  brick  laid  in  mortar  of  the  best  possible 
quality,  but  used  sparingly  because  of  its  scarcity. 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          35 

There  are  many  ruined  mosques  and  tombs  in  and 
about  the  city.  These  are  generally  octagonal  in 
shape,  and  roofed  with  shallow  domes  set  on 
squinch  arches.  The  latter  however  are  often 
covered  with  a  dome  resembling  a  pineapple,  com- 
posed of  a  series  of  alveolate  niches,  or  squinches, 
set  in  converging  courses,  one  above  the  other. 
The  best  example  of  this  is  the  reputed  tomb  of 
Sitt  Zobeida,  wife  of  Harun-al-Rashid,  situated 
near  West  Bagdad. 

But  the  most  interesting  thing  to  the  casual 
visitor  is  the  street  life  which  is  to  be  observed 
most  easily  in  the  bazaars  or  market-places.  Like 
those  of  Cairo  and  Constantinople  these  are  the 
main  streets  of  the  business  section,  covered  with 
a  vaulted  roof,  formed  generally  of  squinch  arches, 
with  shops  bordering  on  either  side,  arranged  like 
the  chapels  on  either  side  of  the  nave  of  a  Gothic 
cathedral.  Light  is  furnished  only  by  occasional 
openings  in  the  vaulting,  and  so  the  scene  is 
always  dim,  but  often  rendered  beautiful  by  long 
sunbeams,  that  come  in  at  a  sharp  angle  through 
the  little  windows  and  lie  diagonally  across  the 
passage.  The  best  way  to  describe  these  busy 
marts  is  to  ask  the  reader  to  come  with  me  for  a 
stroll  through  the  city  and  point  them  out  as  we 
go  along. 

We  step  out  of  the  door  of  the  Tigris  Hotel  and 
turn  to  the  left  in  the  crowded  street.  Look  out 
for  those  donkeys,  they  will  run  over  you  rough- 
shod if  you  do  not !  Look  at  them  as  they  go  by. 


36  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Big  white  fellows  they  are  as  strong  as  a  horse. 
Notice  the  blue  beads  that  they  wear  around  their 
necks  to  avert  the  evil  eye,  and  the  embroidered 
halters  hung  with  charms  against  spavin.  They 
are  carrying  bricks  to  be  used  in  rebuilding  these 
dilapidated  houses,  for  now  you  can  see  that  the 
front  walls  of  all  the  buildings  for  a  hundred  yards 
have  been  torn  down.  This  was  done  by  Nazim 
Pasha  when  he  was  Vali,  pursuant  to  a  plan  he  had 
formed  to  build  a  splendid  boulevard  through  the 
heart  of  the  city.  Unfortunately  he  chose  a  line 
through  the  gardens  of  the  British  residency,  and 
set  his  engineers  to  undermine  the  wall.  The 
resident  protested  and  offered  to  co-operate  on 
another  route,  but  in  vain.  So  he  remembered 
how  Wellington  placed  a  British  sentry  on  the 
Pont  d'lena  in  Paris  when  Blucher  wished  to 
blow  up  that  offensively  named  structure,  and 
went  and  did  likewise.  When  the  road  builders 
saw  the  scarlet  clad  sepoy  on  the  wall  they  soon 
ceased .  undermining  it,  for  though  the  governor- 
general  might  have  the  right  to  undermine  a  wall, 
serious  complications  might  follow  the  knocking 
down  of  a  British  sentry.  So  the  boulevard  build- 
ing was  held  up  and  left  only  a  few  ugly  scars. 

You  have  heard  of  Nazim  Pasha  before  as  the 
commander-in-chief  of  the  Turkish  army  in  the 
Balkan  War,  who  was  assassinated  at  the  very 
height  of  his  usefulness.  Although  progressive 
he  was  not  extremely  radical  like  the  Salonica 
committee,  and  when  that  body  came  into  power 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          37 

they  sent  him  to  this  remote  province  to  get  rid 
of  him,  for  Bagdad  is  at  least  three  weeks'  journey 
from  the  capital.  But  Nazim  was  not  to  be  re- 
pressed. He  cleaned  out  his  vilayet,  and  in  six 
months  it  was  the  best  governed  and  quietest 
province  in  the  Empire.  This  was,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Porte,  adding  insult  to  injury.  They  recalled 
Nazim  in  disgrace  and  secretly  plotted  to  assas- 
«'.nate  him  on  the  way  back.  He  got  wind  of  the 
plot,  however,  and  escaped  incognito  to  Persia 
and  made  his  way  northward  to  Russian  Armenia, 
where  he  worked  with  a  pick  and  shovel  for  a 
living.  A  year  passed,  the  Young  Turk  cabinet 
was  discredited,  and  the  grand-vizierate  was 
offered  to  Kiamil  Pasha.  News  of  the  change 
reached  Nazim  in  his  exile  and  he  made  his  way 
to  the  port  of  Batum,  where  he  took  service  as  a 
coal-heaver  on  a  Russian  steamer.  Arriving  at 
Constantinople  he  promptly  deserted,  appeared 
at  a  friend's  house,  where  he  borrowed  a  general's 
uniform,  and  then  made  his  way  to  the  Sublime 
Porte.  Here  Kiamil  immediately  made  him 
Minister  of  War.  Only  a  few  months  later 
Europe  was  disgusted  at  the  wanton  assassination 
in  his  own  office  of  the  strongest  character  and 
finest  general  the  Turks  possessed,  by  the  arch- 
devil  of  the  Committee  of  Union  and  Progress, 
that  notorious  institution  that  belies  its  name  in 
its  every  act. 

But  we  are  getting  on  rapidly.     These  shops  on 
either  side  are  kept  by  Jews,  that  by  a  firm  of 


38  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Parsees  from  Bombay.  The  shop  with  the  green- 
uniformed  officers  standing  before  the  door  is  the 
government  dispensary,  another  mark  of  Nazim's 
rule.  Now  we  are  coming  into  the  old  business 
section.  See  that  whitewashed  building  with  a 
balcony  all  around  the  second  story?  It  is  a  typical 
coffee  house  where  many  of  the  prominent  mer- 
chants gather.  Let  us  pause  here  a  moment  and 
notice  some  of  the  passers-by. 

This  tall  sharp-faced  man  is  a  wealthy  rug- 
merchant.  Notice  his  flowing  cloak  made  of 
softest  camel's  wool  with  a  beautiful  silky  lustre. 
His  vest  and  belted  robe,  worn  under  the  cloak 
reaching  to  the  ankles,  are  of  fine  grey  broadcloth. 
His  green  turban  proclaims  him  a  descendant  of 
the  Prophet.  The  man  beside  him  is  a  mollah  or 
priest.  His  undergarments  are  of  the  same  soft 
grey  as  his  companion's,  but  his  cloak  is  harsher 
in  appearance.  As  he  brushes  by,  you  can  see  it 
is  of  very  tightly  twisted,  closely  woven  camel's 
hair  without  the  gold  embroidery  the  other  shows. 
His  turban  is  pure  white,  the  priestly  colour. 

These  other  men  passing  now  are  of  a  poorer 
class.  Their  cloaks  are  less  handsome,  made  of 
wool  or  goat's  hair  dyed  in  various  shades  of  brown 
or  striped  brown  and  white.  Their  undergarments 
are  of  brightly  coloured  cotton  cloth.  Instead  of 
the  aristocratic  turban  they  wear  a  kerchief  of 
cotton  folded  diagonally  and  held  in  place  on  the 
head  by  a  double  circlet  of  woollen  yarn. 

See  that  group  of  dirty  shabby  men  in  baggy 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs         39 

trousers,  felt  hats,  and  flapping  vests  of  the  same 
material?  They  are  hamals,  the  burden-bearers 
of  the  bazaars.  They  come  from  the  hills  north 
of  the  desert  or  from  Persia  and  are  of  Kurdish 
race.  They  can  carry  enormous  weights  on  their 
backs.  There  goes  one  now  with  a  load  of  fire- 
wood. Yes,  it  is  a  man!  Look  under  the  load 
and  you  will  find  him. 

Notice  the  man  in  the  tall  black  felt  hat  with  a 
black  scarf  around  it.  He  is  a  Persian  merchant 
and  wears  under  his  cloak,  as  you  see,  a  jacket 
and  baggy  trousers.  He  is  a  very  jolly  sort  and 
exchanges  much  banter  with  his  friends  in  the 
balcony. 

There  is  still  much  of  interest  awaiting  us. 
Around  the  corner  we  enter  a  bazaar.  Most  of 
the  Bagdad  bazaars  are  of  this  type.  The  narrow 
street  is  covered  by  a  vaulted  roof.  On  either 
side  are  stalls  in  which  the  vender  sits  cross- 
legged  behind  his  wares,  which  are  displayed  on  the 
floor  before  him,  or  hung  on  the  hinged  shutters 
that  close  his  shop  at  night.  Each  trade  has 
a  bazaar  in  a  street  or  group  of  streets  of  its 
own. 

Come  this  way  and  let  us  stroll  down  the  cloth- 
ing market.  Everything  is  serene  and  quiet. 
Neatly  folded  cloaks  are  displayed  upon  either 
side.  Gaily  coloured  kerchiefs  hang  upon  open 
shutters;  Manchester  piece  goods  are  temptingly 
unrolled  before  the  unwary  wanderer.  Here  a 
group  of  men  are  embroidering  with  gold  and  silver 


4°  The  Gate  of  Asia 

patterns  the  brilliant  native-silk  cloaks  worn  by 
the  women;  there  a  man  is  cutting  and  sewing 
lambskins  for  the  military  fezes.  Sober,  well- 
dressed  customers  sit,  puffing  at  water-pipe  or 
cigarette,  discussing  bargains  with  most  indiffer- 
ent-looking merchants. 

But  come  into  this  bazaar  around  the  corner 
and  you  will  see  a  very  different  thing.  Here  are 
the  green-grocers  and  sweetmeat  sellers.  I  have 
to  shout  it  into  your  ear,  such  a  din  comes  from 
every  side.  Roughly  clad  men,  gesticulating 
wildly,  are  explaining  the  utter  worthlessness  of 
the  dates  they  wish  to  buy.  Old  hags,  neglectful 
of  their  veils,  are  haggling  excitedly  over  bunches 
of  garlic  or  huge  cucumbers.  Yonder  a  pitifully 
inadequate  boy  is  striving  manfully  to  restrain  a 
kicking,  squealing  donkey  who  has  all  but  got  his 
muzzle  into  a  basket  of  grain.  Every  stall  is 
crowded  and  every  individual  is  shouting  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs.  The  narrow  street  is  filled  with 
the  surging  mob.  We  try  to  fight  our  way  through. 
We  squeeze  along  slowly  but  manage  it  somehow. 
Suddenly  we  hear  cries  behind.  A  caravan  is 
coming.  Thirty  or  forty  horses  loaded  with 
heavy  projecting  bales  of  tobacco  swing  casually 
through  the  throng  at  a  fast  walk,  urged  by  sharp 
blows  from  their  stalwart  drivers.  The  crowd 
opens  up  like  magic.  Dodge  that  bale!  How 
they  do  it  I  do  not  know.  They  pay  no  attention 
to  the  horses  but  go  on  bargaining  furiously.  It 
is  like  a  ship  passing  through  the  sea.  The  water 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          41 

opens  in  front  and  closes  up  behind  and  only  a 
slight  swirl  marks  the  passing. 

Come,  let  us  get  out  of  this !  We  pass  through 
the  shoemakers'  bazaar  between  rows  and  rows 
of  red  slippers  into  the  harness-makers'  bazaar. 
Here  are  brilliant  headstalls,  uncomfortable  look- 
ing saddles  with  brilliantly  embroidered  covers, 
stirrups,  ropes,  chains,  bits,  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  the  road. 

Bang!  Bang!  What  a  noise!  Where  are  we 
now?  The  place  is  full  of  acrid  smoke.  You 
cannot  see  for  a  moment.  It  is  the  coppersmiths' 
bazaar.  Sitting  on  the  ground  on  either  hand, 
beside  smoky  charcoal  fires,  they  keep  banging 
away  all  day  with  hammers  of  every  conceivable 
size  and  shape.  They  are  swiftly,  deftly  shaping 
pots  and  pans,  platters,  trays,  bowls,  and  narrow- 
necked  water  jars.  One  workman  turns  out  the 
rough  article  and  hands  it  to  another  who  taps 
away  at  it,  neatly  covering  it  with  rows  of  dents, 
scalloping  the  edge,  or  hammering  out  a  rough 
design. 

Now  we  will  go  out  into  the  fresh  air  and  get 
the  smoke  and  dust  out  of  our  lungs.  We  get  a 
carriage  in  front  of  the  government  building,  a 
great  shapeless  pile  around  a  big  courtyard 
guarded  by  lazy-looking  sentries.  We  drive 
through  the  north  quarter  of  the  city  where  many 
of  the  caravanserais  are.  Here  is  the  arsenal, 
which  was  once  the  kalif's  palace.  Pause  a 
moment  and  consider  that  from  this  very  gateway 


42  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Harun-al-Rashid  used  to  sally  in  disguise  to  try 
the  temper  of  his  people,  and  in  one  of  those  upper 
rooms  the  fair  Zobeida  wove  the  tales  of  the 
thousand  and  one  nights. 

Turn  now  and  notice  the  dome  patterned  with 
gaudy  tiles  clinging  to  the  cracks  of  which  are 
many  pigeons.  It  is  the  dome  of  the  oldest 
mosque  in  Bagdad.  At  its  door  Harun  used  to 
stand  and  mix  with  the  beggars.  Before  its 
pulpit  the  Sultan  Suleiman  the  Magnificent  had 
himself  made  Kalif ,  thus  ending  the  existence  of 
Bagdad  as  the  capital  of  Islam. 

The  north  gate  through  which  we  pass  is  un- 
beautiful  and  unhistoric,  but  we  drive  on  along 
the  outer  edge  of  the  great  fosse,  the  "Bagdad 
ditch,"  past  recently  arrived  caravans,  and  stop 
to  see  an  older  gate  on  the  east  side.  Like  the 
ancient  Greek,  and  more  recent  mediaeval  Euro- 
pean fortified  gateways,  it  is  approached  by  a 
causeway  exposing  the  unprotected  right  side  of 
assailants  to  the  walls.  The  tower  thus  reached 
gave  access  to  a  bridge  across  the  fosse,  and  an- 
other gateway  admitted  within  the  walls.  Inside 
this  gate  is  a  tomb,  which  I  point  out  because  it  is 
typical  of  the  Bagdad  burial-places.  The  mortu- 
ary chamber  is  covered  by  a  "pineapple  dome" 
such  as  is  often  seen  hereabout.  Within  a  walled 
garden  is  a  beautiful  tiled  minaret  whence  a 
muezzin  calls  to  prayer  five  times  a  day,  and  calls 
in  vain,  I  fear,  for  the  city  is  not  as  large  as  it 
once  was  and  there  are  no  houses  within  hearing 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          43 

distance.  But  such  is  the  force  of  tradition  in 
the  East. 

A  few  minutes  more  bring  us  to  the  mosque  of 
Abdul  Kadir.  The  main  part  of  the  building  is 
covered  by  a  huge  low  whitewashed  dome,  beside 
which  in  curious  contrast  is  the  most  beautifully 
decorated  dome  in  the  Mohammedan  world.  It 
is  covered  with  tiles  making  a  design  like  a  beau- 
tiful Persian  rug,  both  in  tasteful  treatment  and 
subdued  colouring.  The  cylindrical  wall  below 
is  similarly  decorated.  Below  a  ring  of  arabesques 
is  the  most  exquisite  tile-work  in  the  world.  The 
minarets  are  of  almost  equal  beauty  while  the 
gardens  about  the  mosque  are  among  the  most 
lovely  in  Bagdad.  This  shrine  is  a  great  resort 
for  pilgrims,  especially  from  India  where  the 
Kadiriyeh  dervishes,  an  order  founded  by  Abdul 
Kadir  himself,  are  very  strong. 

It  was  built  soon  after  the  death  of  the  Sheikh 
in  1253,  and  so  must  have  been  quite  new  in  the 
year  of  the  Mongol  invasion  that  witnessed  the 
fall  of  the  Abbasids.  To  this  the  present  suc- 
cessor of  Abdul  Kadir,  the  Nakib  as  he  is 
called,  owes  his  pre-eminence  in  the  religious 
world  of  Bagdad.  The  kalifs  had  jealously 
protected  their  religious  hegemony  lest  rivals 
rise  against  them,  but  they  had  not  had  time 
to  fear  the  successors  of  even  so  holy  a  man 
as  Abdul  Kadir,  and  so  the  Nakib  had  no  great 
difficulty  in  stepping  into  their  shoes  and  estab- 
lishing no  little  local  prestige.  The  present 


44  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Nakib  is  a  quiet  but  progressive  man,  with  a 
good  influence. 

Near  the  mosque  is  a  tekiyeh,  a  place  for  the 
entertainment  of  pilgrims.  Several  broad  courts 
are  surrounded  by  two-storied  arcades,  that 
provide  lodging  for  thousands  of  pilgrims.  There 
are  to  be  seen  men  of  all  the  Moslem  nations, 
washing  at  the  fountain  and  walking  in  the  shade 
of  the  gardens.  This  is  one  of  the  great  meeting- 
places  of  Islam,  where  all  races  and  peoples  that 
follow  the  Prophet  come  together  and  realize 
the  widespread  and  singular  unity  of  their  religion. 
Pilgrimage  is  the  great  bond  that  unites  all  Mos- 
lems, whether  they  dwell  by  the  holy  cities  in 
Hejaz,  in  the  confines  of  Europe,  or  in  distant 
Hindustan,  or  still  more  remote  China. 

From  this  great  shrine  it  is  only  a  short  drive 
to  the  American  consulate  where  we  may  dismiss 
our  carriage  and  pay  our  respects  to  the  consul. 
Mr.  Sauer  occupied  that  position  at  the  time  of 
our  visit,  and  showed  us  the  kindest  hospitality. 
He  and  the  vice-consul,  Mr.  Levack,  by  their 
assistance,  practically  made  our  journey  from 
Bagdad  possible. 

The  consulate  is  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
city,  not  far  from  the  river.  Nearby  is  the  British 
residency  where  we  were  received  by  the  acting 
resident,  Major  Scott,  to  whom  we  were  provided 
with  letters.  This  official,  though  called  a  resident, 
is  really  only  a  consul.  He  owes  his  title  to  the 
fact  that  he  is  under  the  India  office,  and  not  the 


11 


.b  a 


3 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          45 

foreign  office,  and  so  ranks  as  a  representative  in 
a  native  state  in  which  the  government  of  India 
claims  a  sphere  of  influence.  He  further  differs 
from  a  consular  officer  in  having  a  guard  of  thirty 
Sikhs,  and  a  little  gunboat  on  the  river.  This 
arrangement  dates  from  1838,  when  a  military 
expedition  was  sent  up  the  river  to  establish,  once 
for  all,  the  right  of  Britons  to  carry  on  trade  in 
Bagdad.  The  first  big  company  to  enter  into 
trade  there  was  that  of  Messrs.  Lynch,  for  whom 
England  wrested  from  Turkey  the  right  to  navi- 
gate the  Tigris,  a  right  which  they  still  exercise. 
It  is  largely  in  evidence  of  this  right  that  the  caller 
at  the  residency  is  saluted  by  a  trim,  bearded 
sepoy  as  he  enters  the  gate. 

The  spacious  buildings  and  beautiful  gardens 
of  the  residency  are  the  centre  of  the  European 
colony  in  the  city.  A  short  time  ago  this  comprised 
only  a  few  merchants  and  the  consuls  of  the  great 
Powers.  But  today  there  are  several  engineers 
connected  with  the  irrigation  works,  started  under 
the  direction  of  Sir  William  Willcocks,  all  of  whom 
are  English,  and  a  considerable  number  of  German 
and  other  Continental  engineers  engaged  on  the 
Bagdad  Railway.  The  chief  engineer  was  our 
fellow-guest  at  the  Tigris  Hotel,  and  from  him 
we  learned  that  there  were  then  (1913)  eighty 
kilometres  in  process  of  construction.  When  we 
asked  to  see  the  work,  we  were  courteously  but 
firmly  refused. 

The  concession  for  this  railway  was  considered 


46  The  Gate  of  Asia 

a  triumph  of  German  diplomacy.  The  line  already 
existing  in  1909  from  the  Bosphorus  to  Boulgour, 
and  requiring  only  a  short  addition  to  bring 
it  to  the  Mediterranean  at  Mersina,  was  the  chief 
claim  of  Germany  for  a  sphere  of  influence  in 
Anatolia.  England's  weakness  in  permitting  this 
German  interest  to  be  pushed  forward  to  Bagdad, 
the  very  centre  of  the  British  sphere,  is  attribut- 
able only  to  the  policy  of  conciliation  followed  by 
the  Foreign  Office  in  all  the  Near  Eastern  ques- 
tions, not  only  in  1910-1911  when  this  concession 
was  granted,  but  later  also,  when  Mr.  Shuster 
was  driven  out  of  Persia.  It  may  be  unnecessary 
to  note  that  the  port  of  Mersina  has  been  surren- 
dered to  Germany  upon  a  long  lease — a  very 
dangerous  precedent.  The  permanent  way  be- 
tween this  port  and  the  important  Syrian  centre 
of  Aleppo  will  soon  be  completed.  The  railways 
south  of  this  city  are  chiefly  owned  in  France  and 
have  been  built  by  French  companies,  while  that 
nation  also  claims  Syria  as  her  sphere  of  influence ; 
it  is  therefore  at  Aleppo  that  German  and  French 
interests  may  be  expected  to  clash. 

From  this  point  the  Bagdad  Railway  turns 
eastward  and  already  trains  are  running  to  the 
Euphrates.  The  line  is  to  be  continued  to  Mosul 
and  then  southward,  down  the  Tigris  valley  to 
Bagdad.  It  was  at  first  announced  that  the  con- 
cession for  a  line  from  Bagdad  to  Busrah  had  been 
guaranteed  to  the  English,  and  it  was  hinted  that 
the  Lynch  interests  would  undertake  the  work. 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          47 

But  it  has  recently  become  known  that  such  a 
concession  has  been  given  to  Germany  and  that 
the  Bagdad  Railway  will,  in  course  of  time,  be 
continued  to  the  Gulf.  The  loss  to  the  Lynch 
interests  alone  caused  by  such  a  railway  will  be 
very  great ;  and  these  interests  are  the  chief  British 
claim  to  commercial  preponderance  in  Mesopo- 
tamia. Strategically  Bagdad  has  always  been 
regarded  as  an  outpost  of  the  Indian  Empire. 
The  building  of  the  Bagdad  Railway  will  practi- 
cally put  it  in  the  hands  of  Germany,  and  will 
shorten  the  time  to  India  by  several  days,  so  that 
in  the  event  of  a  conflict  between  the  Powers  in 
the  East — by  no  means  impossible  in  the  light  of 
the  present  imbroglio  in  Europe — a  Continental 
nation  controlling  the  Bagdad  Railway  would  be 
able  to  attack  the  British  Empire  in  its  most 
vulnerable  spot  before  measures  could  be  taken 
for  adequate  defence. 

Furthermore  Russia  now  controls  the  passes  on 
the  Persian  frontier  north  of  Bagdad  and,  it  can- 
not be  denied,  is  looking  greedily  on  the  Tigris- 
Euphrates  valley.  The  old  spectre  of  a  Muscovite 
invasion  of  India  has  not  yet  disappeared,  and 
here  again  the  present  cabinet  has  departed  from 
the  "stand  back  and  hands  off"  policy  of  its  pre- 
decessors. All  of  which  plainly  suggests  that 
they  feel  that  England  has  all  the  colonial  respon- 
sibility that  she  can  bear,  and  that  on  account  of 
the  dangerous  situation  in  Europe,  they  can  do 
no  more  to  check  the  colonial  expansion  of  the 


48  The  Gate  of  Asia 

other  Powers.  We  may  yet  see  either  Germany 
or  Russia  on  the  Persian  Gulf,  possibly  both. 

These  subjects  were  the  talk  of  Bagdad  at  the 
time  of  our  visit,  and  it  need  hardly  be  said  that 
the  Anglo-Saxon  community,  who  had  been  practi- 
cally the  only  foreign  element,  resented  the  Ger- 
man invasion  and  felt  rather  bitterly  toward  their 
government  for  permitting  it.  Nevertheless  they 
were  accustomed  to  meet  the  Teutons  on  entirely 
cordial  terms.  There  are  two  European  clubs 
now,  however,  the  old  English  club  which  admits 
no  Continentals,  and  the  somewhat  less  exclusive 
German  and  French  club. 

A  short  distance  outside  of  West  Bagdad — the 
Shia  quarter — is  the  suburb  of  Kazimein.  Here 
are  the  tombs  and  mosques  of  the  seventh  and 
ninth  Imams,  descendants  of  Ali  and  Fatimah, 
daughter  of  the  Prophet.  The  Shia  are  the  most 
fanatical  Moslems  and  will  permit  no  Christian 
to  enter  their  shrines.  But  visitors  may  go  out 
to  the  mosques,  by  the  little  train  line  that  con- 
nects them  with  the  city,  and  gaze  from  afar  upon 
the  gilded  domes  and  minarets,  the  exquisite 
tile-work  of  the  gateways,  and  the  doors  of  beaten 
silver.  The  wealth  of  this  shrine  is  nothing  short 
of  marvellous  and  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  Shias 
are  devoted  pilgrims  and  are  wont  to  make  large 
gifts  to  their  chief  shrines.  Kazimein  is  especially 
fortunate  in  being  not  only  very  near  Persia,  but 
also  on  the  great  pilgrim  route  to  Kerbela,  the 
old  centre  of  the  sect  and  site  of  some  of  its  most 


Bagdad,  City  of  the  Kalifs          49 

sacred  tombs,  as  well  as  the  route  to  Mecca,  the 
supreme  Moslem  pilgrimage.  But  it  is  not  safe 
for  a  Westerner  to  linger  long  before  the  great 
shrines,  lest  he  rouse  the  fanaticism  of  the  wor- 
shippers and  suffer  the  ignominy  of  being  hustled 
rudely  away.  The  best  place  from  which  to  view 
the  shrine  is  from  the  roof  of  one  of  the  neigh- 
bouring tombs,  as  that  of  the  Indian  prince,  Sir 
Ikbal  ed  Douleh,  brother  to  the  late  King  of  Oudh. 
The  mollah  in  charge  is  a  kindly  soul  and  ever 
ready  to  dispense  hospitality  to  a  stranger,  espe- 
cially if  he  be  a  fellow-subject  of  his  late  lamented 
master. 

Kazimein,  though  a  Shia  shrine,  really  owes  its 
sanctity  to  having  been  the  burial-place  of  Ibn 
Hanbal,  founder  of  the  last  of  the  four  orthodox 
Sunni  sects.  His  tomb  however  has  long  since 
disappeared.  Across  the  river  stands  the  tomb 
of  another  of  this  line  of  teachers,  Abu  Hanifah, 
founder  of  the  first  of  the  four  sects.  Its  beauti- 
ful old  tiled  dome,  in  the  midst  of  the  picturesque 
village  of  Muazzam,  is  doubtless  the  oldest  of  all 
the  ruins  about  Bagdad,  for  its  occupant  was  a 
Christian  convert  who  aided  Mansur  in  the  build- 
ing of  the  original  Moslem  city. 

The  whole  region  about  this  tomb  and  those  of 
Kazimein  is  a  vast  cemetery,  covered  with  graves 
and  scattered  stones,  sad  reminders  of  past  great- 
ness, for  here  were  the  palaces  of  the  earliest  and 
greatest  of  the  Abbasid  kalifs. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOURNEYING   TO   BABYLON 

IT  was  not  that  we  had  had  enough  of  Bagdad. 
The  fascination  of  that  romantic  city  never 
palled.  The  least  spoiled  city  in  Turkey,  the  soul, 
not  only  of  Irak,  but  of  Iran  and  Arabia,  we  found 
it  ever  alive  with  romance,  kaleidoscopic  with 
strange  sights,  teeming  with  men  of  all  descrip- 
tions, desert  dwellers  and  city  dwellers,  mountain- 
eers and  plainsmen.  But  we  wished  to  exchange 
these  mediasval  scenes  for  a  glimpse  into  the  shim- 
mering dawn  of  history,  bright  with  the  hopes  of 
surging  peoples,  resonant  with  strange  tongues, 
and  fresh  with  the  dew  of  unquestioned  tradi- 
tion. It  was  for  this  that  we  decided  to  leave 
the  noisy  bazaars  to  cross  the  desert  silences  and 
sit  down  by  the  waters  of  Babylon. 

It  seemed  prosaic  to  make  this  journey  in  a 
post-carriage.  We  sent  our  servant  with  the 
requisite  number  of  Turkish  liras  to  procure  a 
ticket  and  such  oranges  and  dates  and  other  things 
as  we  should  require  for  sustenance  on  the  road. 
The  ticket  began  to  dispel  our  illusions  about  the 
prosaic  character  of  the  ride.  It  was  a  slip  of 

50 


Journeying  to  Babylon  51 

paper,  four  inches  square,  bearing  at  the  top  a  rough 
woodcut  representing  an  old-fashioned  stage- 
coach; below  it  was  filled  in  with  flowing  Arabic 
characters  setting  forth  our  names,  our  destina- 
tion, and  the  date.  Our  last  illusion  was  dispelled 
when  we  were  confronted  at  the  consulate  with  a 
trim,  blue-uniformed  zaptieh,  his  rifle  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  his  hand  raised  to  salute,  who  was  to 
accompany  us  to  guard  us  from  the  perils  of  the 
road. 

The  carriages  leave  bright  and  early  so  as  not 
to  reach  their  destination  after  dark  when  robbers 
are  abroad.  It  was  not  yet  four  o'clock  when  we 
arose  and  jumped  into  the  warmest  clothes  we  had. 
In  the  courtyard  a  flickering  lantern  cast  fantastic 
shadows  on  the  yellow  brick  walls.  Above  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  sharply  glittering  stars.  A 
Kurdish  coolie  was  produced  from  somewhere  and 
loaded  with  kit-bag  and  tiffin  basket,  containing  the 
odds  and  ends  of  wayfarers.  Mustafa,  the  cook's 
boy,  seized  the  lantern  and  led  us  through  the 
outer  courtyard  toward  the  street.  Yusef,  the 
porter,  had  to  be  aroused  to  unlock  the  heavy  door 
and  let  us  out.  Not  contented  with  this  service 
he  too  snatched  up  his  lantern  and  set  out  to 
accompany  us.  But  Mustafa  had  no  intention 
of  dividing  his  backsheesh  with  a  porter.  A  shrill 
discussion  ensued  in  which  our  servant  joined 
and,  worsted,  Yusef  returned  to  his  blankets  in 
the  niche  within  the  door. 

That  was  a  weird  walk  through  the  deserted 


52  The  Gate  of  Asia 

streets.  At  first  the  starlight  revealed  the  scene 
beyond  the  uncertain  flashes  from  the  swinging 
lantern.  Soon  projecting  upper  storeys  shut  out 
all  but  a  narrow  strip  of  sky.  The  lantern  light 
flashed  on  massive  doors  and  barred  windows.  We 
entered  the  bazaar.  The  vaulted  roof  shut  out  the 
sky;  the  darkness  was  oppressive.  Our  voices  re- 
echoed down  the  empty  passage  as  in  a  tomb. 
A  dog,  roused  by  our  footsteps,  leapt  up  with  a 
shrill  bark  and  faced  us,  his  hair  bristling,  his 
teeth  showing  white  against  the  backward  curled 
lips.  The  light  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  a  group 
of  his  fellows;  some  rose  barking  fiercely;  others 
slunk  away  from  the  light.  The  alarm  spread 
and  in  a  moment  the  whole  street  was  filled  with  a 
turmoil  of  barking.  All  the  dogs  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, wakened  by  the  noise,  joined  in,  half  in 
anger,  half  in  fear.  Rays  of  light  were  reflected 
far  ahead  from  pairs  of  eyes.  Stark  forms  with 
bristling  backs  and  gleaming  teeth  backed  against 
the  wall  as  we  passed.  If  any  stood  in  our  way 
he  was  quickly  put  to  rout  by  Mustafa's  cane  and 
fled  howling,  his  tail  between  his  legs.  As  we 
passed  they  quieted  down,  we  turned  into  other 
streets,  and  all  was  silent  again.  Only  occasionally 
a  sinewy  brute  leaped  to  his  feet  or  a  pair  of  wide 
eyes  glowed  at  us  from  the  edge  of  the  way. 

As  we  made  pur  last  turn  before  reaching  the 
bridge  a  gleam  of  light  flashed  as  from  metal,  we 
heard  the  click  of  spurs,  and  two  officers  of  the 
watch  passed  with  a  solemn  greeting.  A  little 


Journeying  to  Babylon  53 

group  of  coolies,  slouching,  deep-chested,  trotted 
by  without  turning  their  heads.  We  stepped  on 
the  rickety  bridge  of  boats,  following  the  lantern 
carefully  so  as  not  to  step  through  some  hole  in 
the  planking.  The  Tigris  swirled  and  gurgled 
beneath  us;  the  starlight  flashed  on  the  water 
downstream;  before  us  yawned  blackly  the  en- 
trance to  the  bazaars  of  West  Bagdad. 

Into  this  black  hole  we  plunged  and  were  greeted 
almost  instantly  by  a  furious  crowd  of  white- 
fanged  curs  through  which  we  made  our  way  only 
after  vigorous  use  had  been  made  of  Mustafa's 
cane.  A  couple  of  donkeys  laden  with  brushwood 
followed  by  a  cursing  hag  brushed  by.  The 
lantern  light  revealed  a  huddled  coolie  asleep  on  a 
pile  of  rubbish.  The  rickety  roof  of  poles  lay 
like  a  gridiron  against  the  sky.  Then  we  left 
the  bazaars  behind  and  found  ourselves  among 
the  khans  whither  the  caravans  come.  The  air 
was  full  of  the  smell  of  stables  and  the  musty 
odour  of  camels.  A  group  of  laden  mules  were 
standing  before  an  arched  doorway.  In  the 
darkness  we  heard  the  creak  and  thud  followed  by 
stamping  which  means  a  load  has  been  lifted  upon 
the  saddle.  We  cringed  against  a  wall  in  a  litter 
of  straw  to  let  pass  a  caravan  of  shouldering, 
jostling  camels.  A  curious  brute  thrust  his  ugly 
scowling  countenance  into  the  lantern  light,  blink- 
ing stupidly  into  our  faces.  ' '  Daughter  of  wicked- 
ness !  Mother  of  asses ! "  shrilled  a  voice  through 
the  night.  The  camels  passed  on.  The  air  was 


54  The  Gate  of  Asia 

sharp  with  the  chill  that  comes  before  the  dawn. 
The  stars  were  growing  dull.  So  we  came  at  last 
to  the  khan  from  which  the  arabanas,  the  post- 
carriages,  start. 

The  bustle  of  departure  over,  we  banged  away 
in  our  narrow  rattle-trap  of  a  stage-coach,  collars 
turned  up,  hands  stuffed  in  pockets,  shivering  in 
the  still  cold  of  the  winter  morning.  We  reared 
over  the  high  banks  of  irrigating  ditches,  bumped 
against  deserted  graves,  and  entered  upon  the 
flat  brown  clay  desert.  Behind  us  the  sun  rose 
over  the  minarets  and  domes  of  the  city.  The 
brilliant  sky  was  reflected  in  a  marsh  left  by  last 
year's  floods.  The  chains  jingled  merrily  as  we 
rattled  on.  A  telegraph  line  lay  on  our  right,  now 
near,  now  far,  as  the  track  we  followed  wandered 
capriciously.  Around  us  stretched  the  desert. 

At  first  we  found  it  rather  lonely,  this  vast  flat 
stretch  of  sun-baked  clay.  We  overtook  a  few 
little  groups  of  laden  donkeys,  and  the  caravan 
of  camels  that  had  passed  us  in  the  streets,  but 
we  met  only  a  knot  of  black-clad  women,  each 
staggering  beneath  an  enormous  load  of  brush- 
wood, the  bitter,  prickly  camel  thorn,  sole  product 
of  the  unirrigated  wastes. 

But  as  the  sun  rose  higher  and  the  dry  soil 
gave  back  its  heat  the  mirage  began  to  appear, 
first  on  the  horizon,  then  nearer  like  a  flood  of 
crystal  water.  As  the  day  went  on,  we  began  to 
encounter  those  who  went  towards  Bagdad  from 
beyond  the  Euphrates.  We  passed  a  ruined  castle 


Journeying  to  Babylon  55 

and  climbed  clumsily  over  the  mound  that  marks 
an  old  canal.  There  before  us  was  a  throng  of 
other  wayfarers,  Persian  pilgrims  returning  from 
a  visit  to  the  shrines  of  Kerbela.  Strong,  bearded 
men  strode  sturdily  along  beside  heavily  laden 
mules  or  rode  sideways  on  tiny  donkeys.  Women 
and  children  swayed  back  and  forth  in  a  sort  of 
cradle  on  the  backs  of  animals  or  were  hidden  away 
in  curtained  boxes  slung  on  each  side  of  a  pack- 
saddle.  The  men  showed  the  effects  of  weariness, 
for  theirs  had  been  a  long  journey.  But  they  were 
dogged  and  the  leaders  among  them  greeted  us 
cheerfully  enough.  They  were  a  large  company 
straggling  for  several  furlongs  along  the  desert 
track,  simple  folk  who  made  their  pilgrimage  in 
toil  and  suffering,  sacrificing  wonted  comforts  and 
using  the  savings  of  years  for  the  expenses  of  the 
road.  They  were  town  dwellers  from  the  shores 
of  the  Caspian  or  north-central  Persia,  unac- 
customed to  hardship.  At  home  they  had  lived 
by  cultivating  a  little  garden  or  vineyard  or  by 
doing  a  little  quiet  trading  in  the  bazaars  of  their 
native  town.  The  women  had  lived  aways  in 
the  jealously  guarded  secrecy  of  their  apartments, 
rarely  appearing  on  the  street.  And  here  they 
were  setting  out  again  to  brave  the  perils  of  a 
road  beset  with  hostile  tribes,  barred  by  lofty 
mountain  passes.  Such  is  the  fanatical  power  of 
the  religion  which  they  profess.  Not  a  few  must 
perish  by  the  road,  some  will  lose  their  animals 
and  have  to  leave  their  simple  loads  behind  and 


56  The  Gate  of  Asia 

trudge  on  destitute.  ' '  All  is  in  the  hands  of  Allah ! 
Allamdulillah !  Praise  be  to  God ! ' ' 

Behind  the  pilgrims  were  a  number  of  camels, 
in  irregular  groups,  plodding  along  in  awkward 
indifference.  Somewhere  in  each  group  was  a  man 
or  boy  striding  along  with  his  staff  across  his 
shoulders  or  perched  high  up  on  the  hump  of  one 
of  the  beasts.  But  the  leaders  of  the  caravan  rode 
in  stately  dignity  each  upon  a  tiny  ass  before  a 
group  of  forty  or  fifty  towering,  heavily  laden 
camels.  The  donkeys  pattered  along  on  dainty 
feet  with  drooping  heads  and  swishing  tails.  The 
camels  swaying  from  side  to  side  swung  their  huge 
padded  feet  in  ungainly  fashion,  deliberately,  as 
though  pausing  after  each  step.  They  made  a 
picture  of  patient  submission  for  they  seemed  to 
have  got  it  into  their  undulating  heads  that  the 
donkey  was  to  be  followed,  so  follow  him  they 
did,  albeit  protestingly. 

When  we  had  passed  the  last  group  of  these 
burden-bearers,  spread  out  right  and  left  on  each 
side,  grumbling  at  having  to  make  way  for  us, 
when  the  last  stragglers  from  the  pilgrim  caravan 
had  given  up  their  quest  of  alms  and  followed  their 
brethren,  this  is  the  tale  that  was  told  us  by 
Thomas  ibn  Shamu,  our  servant : 

"Sahib!  This  matter  happened  to  a  Sheikh  of 
the  desert,  a  Bedouin,  not  like  the  people  of  the 
city  but  a  dweller  in  tents,  filthy,  and  a  Moslem." 
Thomas  was  a  Chaldaean  of  Bagdad  and  feared  as 
much  as  he  despised  the  dwellers  in  the  desert. 


Journeying  to  Babylon  57 

"This  man  was  about  to  die  and  he  called  his 
animals  about  him,  asking  them  to  forgive  what 
wrongs  he  had  done  them.  His  mare  looked  tear- 
fully upon  her  master  and  said  she  had  nought 
to  forgive;  she  had  had  milk  from  the  camels  and 
water  provided  for  her  on  long  marches  in  the 
desert;  why  should  the  master  ask  her  forgiveness? 

"The  grey  hound  said  he  had  always  had  sufficient 
water  to  drink  and  a  warm  place  to  sleep,  so  he 
would  gladly  forgive  his  master  if  he  had  had  to 
go  hungry  at  times  and  been  tied  up  when  he 
wished  to  roam  abroad. 

"The  ass  said  with  pity  in  his  voice  that  he  had 
been  beaten  and  ill  fed  and  driven  by  women  but, 
as  his  master  was  dying,  he  would  forgive  all. 

"Then  came  the  camel,  growling  and  groan- 
ing and  gurgling  in  his  throat.  Glaring  bitterly 
at  his  master  he  said:  'You  have  made  me  go 
hungry  and  thirsty;  you  have  sent  children  to 
strike  me  in  the  face  when  I  was  restless  and  wished 
to  walk  about ;  you  have  burdened  me  with  an  ill- 
made  saddle  that  galled  my  back;  you  have  made 
me  carry  for  all  that  are  in  your  tent.  All  these 
things  I  forgive,  since  you  are  dying.  One  thing 
I  will  not  forgive,  that  is  that  you  have  made  me 
walk  behind  a  donkey." 

Caravan  after  caravan  we  passed,  more  pilgrims 
and  more  camels;  some  we  overtook  and  some  we 
met.  Strange  effects  were  often  caused  by  the 
mirage.  A  caravan  went  by.  A  lake  appeared 
before  them.  They  seemed  to  enter  it  and  were 


58  The  Gate  of  Asia 

reflected  in  it.  The  camels  grew  taller  and  thin- 
ner in  the  shimmering  heat  until,  tremendously 
lengthened  and  utterly  unstable,  they  disappeared 
in  the  distant  haze.  In  another  quarter  the  lake 
reflected  a  white  building,  surrounded  by  a  forest 
of  palms,  giving  an  impression  of  comfortable 
shade.  We  drove  on,  the  lake  receded,  dwindled; 
a  band  of  pilgrims  seemed  to  be  walking  in  a  marsh ; 
then  the  mirage  vanished  and  we  saw  clearly. 
We  were  driving  into  a  squalid  village  beside  a 
dried-up  irrigating  canal.  Upon  a  mound  stood 
three  drooping,  draggled,  dusty  palms,  all  that 
was  left  of  our  lovely  grove. 

Here  we  stopped  to  change  our  mules.  In  the 
roadway  before  the  khan  sat  a  group  of  Arabs. 
A  servant  supplied  them  with  little  cups  of  tea 
from  a  rude  samovar.  "Salaam  aleikum."  We 
saluted  them  and  taking  our  places  in  the  circle 
we  were  served  in  turn,  we  and  our  following. 
Someone  in  the  dark  doorway  was  thumping  away 
on  a  drum.  A  boy  came  out  of  the  khan  beating 
a  poor  lame  donkey  covered  with  fly-infested 
sores.  I  turned  to  one  of  my  neighbours : 

"Is  it  not  cruel  for  that  boy  to  beat  a  lame  ass 
in  that  way?" 

"Effendim,  it  is  the  will  of  God!" 

"But  you  do  not  allow  horses  or  camels  to  be 
beaten  thus." 

"Effendim,  the  donkey  is  not  like  the  horse  nor 
yet  like  the  camel.  The  reason  is  this.  Upon  a 
certain  day  the  donkeys  went  before  Allah  and 


Journeying  to  Babylon  59 

complained  that  they  were  grievously  beaten  by 
men  so  that  life  was  a  greater  burden  than  they 
could  bear.  Then  said  Allah:  'I  cannot  make 
men  cease  from  beating  you.  It  is  no  sin,  neither 
does  it  cause  them  any  great  loss.  But  I  will  help 
you.  I  will  give  you  so  thick  a  hide  that  however 
much  you  are  beaten  you  shall  not  suffer. ' 

"So,"  said  my  informant,  "it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence if  men  beat  an  ass.  So  thick  a  skin  did 
Allah  give  him  that  after  he  dies  men  use  it  in 
the  making  of  drums  and  the  donkey  continues 
to  be  beaten  after  death." 

Thump,  thump,  thump,  thump,  came  the 
sound  from  the  shadowed  doorway. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  village  we  overtook  a 
throng  of  pilgrims  trudging  along  on  foot.  They 
were  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  dwellers  in  reed  huts 
from  the  great  swamp.  Yet  they  seemed  the 
most  cheerful  of  all  the  pilgrims.  They  whiled 
away  the  time  with  merry  talk,  flaunting  their 
green  and  red  banners  overhead.  The  women 
were  unveiled  and  walked  with  bare  feet  beside 
their  lords,  carrying  the  few  necessities  of  their 
culinary  art.  Old  men  greeted  us  pleasantly.  A 
mere  slip  of  a  girl  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  cracked 
a  joke  at  our  expense,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
her  companions.  Four  or  five  hundred  people 
they  were,  on  this  tramp  of  a  thousand  miles 
which  they  had  undertaken  to  ensure  their  future 
happiness. 

Journeying  for  the  same  purpose  was  another 


60  The  Gate  of  Asia 

caravan,  that  of  a  rich  Persian  family.  The  father, 
riding  a  handsome  grey  stallion,  was  in  the  lead, 
clad  in  sombre  black,  his  beard  stained  red  with 
henna.  His  sons  came  behind  with  a  group  of 
armed  servants  all  superbly  mounted.  Not  a 
woman  was  in  sight.  They  were  hidden  away  in 
kejavehs  carefully  curtained,  carried  two  and  two 
on  the  backs  of  mules.  I  wonder  if  ever  these 
pale  cramped  women  in  their  stuffy  boxes  wished 
to  exchange  their  lot  for  that  of  their  slender, 
sad-eyed  sister  who  had  tramped,  barefooted, 
from  the  swamp. 

That  night  we  spent  in  the  hospitable  dwelling 
of  an  English  engineer,  representative  of  a  well- 
known  London  firm.  He  was  engaged  in  placing 
a  huge  barrage  across  the  channel  of  the  great 
river  Euphrates.  Long  ago,  in  the  dim  past,  this 
land-between-the-rivers  was  intersected  by  a  net- 
work of  canals,  which  made  it  the  home  for  the 
dense  population  of  Babylonian  and  Persian  times. 
These  waterways  are  marked  today  by  long  clay 
ridges,  for  so  laden  with  silt  are  the  rivers  that 
the  canals  are  rapidly  silted  up  and  have  to  be  dug 
out  afresh  each  year.  For  some  reason,  or  more 
likely  for  many  reasons,  these  canals  were  aban- 
doned one  by  one  until  now  even  Kerbela  and 
Babylon  have  no  running  water  except  in  flood 
time.  The  barrage  is  a  long  series  of  arches  each 
of  which  may  be  closed  by  a  steel  door.  Its  pur- 
pose is  to  hold  back  the  river  in  the  season  of  low 
water  so  that  it  will  run  freely  into  the  canals  to 


Journeying  to  Babylon  61 

the  threatened  cities.  In  flood  times  the  gates 
will  be  opened  so  that  the  great  mass  of  water 
which  would  carry  a  dam  away  may  sweep  by  as 
though  running  under  a  bridge. 

Four  thousand  years  ago  a  civilization  existed 
in  this  land  which  probably  was  old  in  the  days 
of  Noah.  Somewhere  in  the  buried  past  of  the 
earth  a  prosperous  race  increased  their  prosperity 
by  conducting  the  life-giving  waters  far  and  wide 
over  the  face  of  the  land.  They  developed  a 
tremendous  culture,  fostered  literature,  art,  and 
science;  their  armies  spread  terror  among  their 
neighbours;  the  justice  of  their  courts  was  un- 
equalled; their  wise  men  solved  the  problem  of 
creation  in  a  way  that  has  come  down  to  us  today. 
But  city  after  city  has  fallen  as  the  waters  ceased 
to  flow  and  their  places  have  become  sun-scorched 
mounds.  Only  the  greatest  of  them  remains, 
whose  people  have  cried  in  despair,  "Give  us 
water!  Without  water  we  perish!"  The  cry 
has  been  heard  by  an  alien  government  and  they 
in  turn  have  called  for  help  from  a  still  more  alien 
people.  So  this  barrage  was  undertaken  and 
even  as  I  write  the  waters  are  beginning  to  flow 
again  toward  Babylon  the  great. 

We  resumed  our  journey  carried  like  the  pil- 
grims by  the  immemorial  burden-bearer,  the 
humble  ass.  Ridge  after  ridge  of  sun-baked  clay 
we  crossed,  traversing  the  flat  desert.  Only  one 
of  the  many  large  canals  still  contained  any  water 
and  that  only  in  stagnant  pools.  Once  we  passed 


62  The  Gate  of  Asia 

a  group  of  mounds  covered  with  sherds  marking 
the  spot  where  once  a  village  stood.  Only  one 
miserable  group  of  huts  was  still  inhabited.  There 
was  no  one  but  dogs  and  a  ragged  child  to  greet 
us,  for  men,  women,  and  children  were  out  caring 
for  the  sheep  or  toiling  to  raise  water  from  the 
deep  wells  to  irrigate  the  palm  gardens  and  the 
slender  crops  of  grass. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  horizon  became  fringed 
with  palms.  There  was  no  mirage,  for  the  desert 
no  longer  gave  back  the  slanting  rays.  My  com- 
panion's donkey  trotted  ahead  neighing  pleadingly 
to  the  leader  of  our  caravan  who  had  been  strid- 
ing in  advance  all  afternoon.  Ceasing  his  weird 
desert  melody  the  man  took  from  his  bosom  a 
handful  of  dates  which  the  pet  received  gratefully 
from  his  hand,  immediately  falling  back  with  his 
companions.  We  found  the  palms  separated 
into  groves  by  half -ruined  mud  walls.  A  glossy 
long-tailed  magpie  leapt  from  palm-stump  to 
toppling  wall  and  examined  us  critically.  A  pair 
of  crested  hoopoes  made  note  of  our  coming,  then 
disappeared  among  the  branches  of  a  blossoming 
pomegranate.  The  lower  limb  of  the  sun  touched 
the  horizon.  The  pious  leader  of  our  caravan, 
having  instructed  his  underlings,  stepped  from 
the  path,  and,  his  face  toward  the  setting  sun, 
his  hands  upon  his  breast,  began  to  repeat  the 
evening  prayer. 

We  rode  on  to  a  village  strongly  surrounded  by 
a  mud  wall  capped  with  thorns.  We  followed  a 


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Journeying  to  Babylon  63 

flock  of  sheep  through  the  gate  and  out  again 
through  the  opposite  wall.  A  winding  path  led 
down  to  the  dry  bed  of  the  ancient  canal  where 
once  ran  a  large  part  of  the  mighty  Euphrates. 
The  sheep  were  driven  down,  bleating,  to  a  little 
hole  where  a  slight  moisture  still  remained.  Be- 
hind them  the  last  glow  of  the  setting  sun  clothed 
the  palms  in  splendour.  A  collapsed  goufa  lay 
in  the  sand  of  the  watercourse,  beside  it  a  belem 
with  seams  gaping  from  dryness.  The  hand  of 
drought  lay  upon  all. 

We  found  the  dwelling  of  the  German  excava- 
tors among  the  palm-trees  on  the  other  bank.  Our 
journey  ended,  we  dismounted  in  the  dusk  while 
Ibrahim,  the  zaptieh,  dinned  against  the  door. 
A  blue-clad  guard  flung  open  the  portal  and  we 
were  admitted  into  the  courtyard.  A  flock  of 
geese  waddled  importantly  to  meet  us;  a  ruffled 
turkey  cock  complained  truculently  over  an 
empty  feed-pan;  a  flock  of  pigeons  rose,  flapping, 
to  the  roof.  It  seemed  as  though  we  had  entered 
a  Rhenish  farmyard  having  left  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  desert  far  behind. 

Sitting  around  the  dinner  table  that  evening 
we  made  the  acquaintance  of  our  new  friends. 
They  told  us  of  their  work  and  its  results,  of  the 
discoveries  they  had  made  and  the  difficulties 
they  had  encountered.  The  conversation  turned 
upon  personal  safety  and  the  value  of  human  life 
in  this  land  of  quickly  roused  passions. 

"With  us,"  said  Heir  Wetzel  who  sat  at  my 


64  The  Gate  of  Asia 

right,  "if  you  kill  a  man  you  do  not  go  to  prison, 
you  will  not  be  killed.  No,  you  must  pay  fifty 
liras  to  the  family  of  the  man ;  that  is  all. 

"The  son  of  one  of  our  labourers  killed  a  man. 
But,  of  course,  a  poor  labourer  had  not  fifty  liras 
so  they  had  to  settle  it  by  special  arrangement. 

"The  boy  was  a  shepherd  and  had  a  field  of 
grass  to  feed  his  flock.  Another  shepherd  who 
was  too  lazy  to  irrigate  his  own  pasture  came  into 
this  field  one  day  and  stole  grass.  It  happened, 
however,  that  the  other  found  it  out  and  went 
and  called  his  fellow  a  thieving  sneak,  an  unprin- 
cipled wastrel,  and  other  names  of  an  undignified 
nature.  This  made  the  thief  very  angry,  so  he 
went  into  the  field  again  and  stole  more  grass. 
Once  more  the  owner  caught  him.  'Again,  son 
of  Satan,  child  of  Beelzebub!  Surely  I  will  send 
thee  to  join  thy  father!'  and  he  shot  him  dead  on 
the  spot. 

"Now  his  father  was  by  the  canal  watering  his 
donkey  when  someone  of  his  neighbours  came 
and  said,  'Thy  son  hath  slain  his  fellow. '  Imme- 
diately the  old  man  packed  all  his  goods,  his  pots 
and  his  pans,  upon  his  donkey,  and  fled  to  the 
next  village. 

"But  when  the  murdered  man's  family  heard 
of  the  crime  they  rushed  to  the  murderer's  house 
and  tore  from  it  every  last  remaining  article  of 
value;  then  they  returned  to  their  own  place. 
After  this  exhibition  of  rage  their  anger  cooled 
somewhat  and  the  murderer's  father  returned  to 


Journeying  to  Babylon  65 

his  house  but  without  his  donkey.  He  knew  that 
now  they  would  harm  neither  himself  nor  his  son 
because  of  the  fifty  liras  which  was  their  due. 
Truly  the  Arab  is  too  shrewd  to  kill  the  goose  that 
lays  the  golden  egg. 

"After  a  seemly  interval  the  family  of  the  mur- 
dered man  came  to  demand  their  money.  Over 
their  narghilehs  and  cups  of  coffee  the  parties 
discussed  this  question. 

'  'Surely  our  brave  young  man  who  feared 
neither  wolves  nor  robbers  and  carried  a  great  sil- 
ver knife  in  his  belt  was  worth  four  hundred  liras  \ ' 

"  'Nay!  Thy  son  was  a  rascal  and  not  worth 
twenty  liras.  Moreover  he  stole  my  donkey ! ' 

"Now  the  relatives  did  not  know  that  the  old 
schemer  had  but  carried  off  the  donkey  to  the 
next  village;  so  they  said: 

'  'But  thy  donkey,  we  know,  was  an  ugly 
brute  and  old  and  not  worth  two  liras  I ' 

"  'Nay,  rather  was  he  an  animal  of  great 
beauty,  pure  white  without  a  blemish,  and  scarcely 
five  years  of  age.  Surely  he  was  of  great  value. 
But  now  that  he  has  been  stolen  and  knows  me 
not,  I  will  make  a  concession  to  you  and  value 
him  at  one  hundred  liras. ' 

"So  they  bargained  over  the  donkey  and  then 
over  the  man  and  fixed  upon  his  value  less  that  of 
the  donkey  at  last.  The  father  must  pay  thirty 
liras  to  the  murdered  man's  family. 

1  'But  I  am  a  poor  man  and  have  nothing. 
Wherewithal  shall  I  pay?' 


66  The  Gate  of  Asia 

'Truly  we  know  thou  didst  receive  six  mejids 
for  certain  dates,  last  November. ' 

'  'But  all  this  money  is  spent  save  two  metaliks 
and  a  bad  piastre,  without  which  I  cannot  purchase 
salt  for  my  son's  sheep. ' 

"So  it  was  arranged  that  payment  should  be 
made  in  kind.  More  bargaining  ensued  over  this. 
Finally  the  relatives  agreed  to  accept  two  sheep, 
a  young  ass,  and  ten  abas  to  be  made  by  relatives 
of  the  murderer  who  dealt  in  such  goods. 

"When  the  time  for  payment  came  these  goods 
were  brought  together  and  turned  over  to  the 
relatives.  The  animals  were  passable  and  duly 
accepted.  But  as  for  the  abas — they  were  scarcely 
big  enough  for  a  three-year-old  child. 

'This  is  not  according  to  the  bargain.     We 
cannot  wear  such  abas.' 

"  'Nay!  but  there  was  no  word  in  the  bargain 
requiring  me  to  make  abas  for  big  men. ' 

"So  the  relatives  were  outwitted  and  the  neigh- 
bours said,  'What  a  clever  man!' 

"We  have  a  neighbour  who  is  a  rich  man  and 
keeps  fifty  liras  always  at  hand.  So  the  villagers 
know  his  gardeners  will  shoot  and  do  not  trespass 
in  his  gardens  in  the  date  season,  for  no  one  likes 
to  get  killed." 

As  we  were  preparing  to  leave  the  table  there  was 
a  rustling  in  the  verandah  without,  then  a  sound 
of  scuffling  and  a  voice  resembling  that  of  the 
common  or  back-fence  variety  of  cat.  But  as  we 
left  the  room  we  saw  that  these  were  no  common 


Journeying  to  Babylon  67 

cats.  Solemnly  the  aged,  dignified,  and  very 
learned  Herr  Professor  assured  us  that  they  were 
Babylonian  cats.  Not  one  or  two  but  a  score  at 
least,  black  and  tawny,  striped  and  marbled,  like 
ordinary  cats,  but  each  showing  his  royal  race  by 
his  tail,  which  was  laughably  misshapen,  crooked, 
and  kinked,  like  the  tail  of  a  bulldog.  This  motley 
crew  swarmed  over  the  Professor,  who  fed  them 
with  pieces  broken  from  one  of  the  coarse  unleav- 
ened loaves  of  native  bread  which  he  had  brought 
from  the  table  for  the  purpose.  They  climbed 
to  his  shoulders,  clung  to  his  coat,  scuffled,  and 
cuffed  each  other  in  the  struggle  for  his  favour. 

"You  have  now  seen  one  of  the  sights  of  Baby- 
lon," said  the  Professor.  "We  will  show  you 
others  in  the  morning." 

Beyond  the  palms  and  the  deserted  river  bed  is 
the  city,  a  group  of  huge  mounds  from  which  the 
curious  of  another  world  have  removed  the  dust 
and  revealed  the  foundations.  Here  are  endless 
mazes  of  walls,  floors,  and  vaulted  chambers,  all 
built  of  bricks  laid  in  asphalt.  This  is  the  land 
to  which  the  people  came  when  they  said,  ' '  Let  us 
go  down  into  the  plain  and  use  bricks  for  stone  and 
pitch  for  mortar." 

Every  brick  in  these  enormous  structures  is 
stamped  with  the  name  and  lineage  of  a  king,  the 
master  builder.  Down  at  the  base  of  the  mound, 
where  the  trenches  of  the  excavators  are  rilled 
with  water  like  the  wells  of  the  village,  are  bricks 
bearing  the  name  of  Hammurabi  and  a  date  2200 


68  The  Gate  of  Asia 

years  before  our  era.  Above  them  are  many 
bricks  bearing  a  more  familiar  name.  A  sloping 
roadway  leads  up  to  an  imposing  triple  gate  upon 
which  the  figures  of  bulls  and  griffins  stand  out  in 
bold  relief.  Beyond  the  gate  are  the  walls  and 
floors  of  a  palace;  but  the  road  slopes  on  upward 
to  a  higher  level,  and  there  also  are  the  ruins  of  a 
palace,  a  palace  built  upon  a  palace.  The  name 
upon  these  bricks  is  that  of  Nebuchadnezzar. 
Somewhere  among  these  walls  was  Daniel's  win- 
dow open  toward  Jerusalem;  somewhere  among 
these  cryptic  ruins  was  the  burning  fiery  furnace. 

Overlooking  one  part  of  the  palace  stands  a 
gigantic  sculptured  lion,  defiant  over  the  prostrate 
body  of  a  man.  This  great  block  of  stone  must 
have  been  a  curiosity  indeed  in  this  land  of  clay 
where  even  a  pebble  is  unheard  of.  Why  it  was 
brought  here  and  how  would  certainly  make  an 
interesting  story.  It  may  have  been  a  trophy 
brought  to  grace  a  Babylonian  triumph;  it  may 
have  been  an  offering  from  an  Assyrian  king  to 
appease  the  god  of  Babylon  for  the  removal  of  the 
capital  to  Nineveh.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  long 
journey  down  the  Tigris  valley  and  across  the 
plains  of  Irak  must  have  been  an  eventful  one. 

Down  among  the  ruins  of  Nabopolassar's 
palace  is  a  striking  detail,  an  arch,  so  far  as  we 
can  tell  the  oldest  in  the  world.  Did  the  Chal- 
dasan  mathematicians  invent  the  arch  or  did  they 
learn  its  principle  from  an  older  civilization  ?  Did 
they  in  turn  hand  their  knowledge  down  through 


Journeying  to  Babylon  69 

their  neighbours  to  the  Roman  architects  or  was 
the  value  of  the  arch  discovered  independently 
at  different  times?  Upon  this  page  of  architec- 
tural history  the  writing  is  so  dim  that  I  fear  it 
will  never  be  read. 

Entering  Nebuchadnezzar's  palace  we  find  the 
guard  rooms,  the  halls  of  audience,  the  chambers 
of  the  king;  but  beyond  them  all,  innermost,  is 
the  most  dramatic  of  all,  the  banquet  hall.  This 
place  has  witnessed  the  pride  and  fall  of  many  an 
empire,  Assyrian,  Babylonian,  Persian,  Macedo- 
nian. Here  have  been  many  triumphant  feasts, 
many  displays  of  captive  splendour;  here  has 
resounded  down  the  centuries  to  conqueror  after 
conqueror  that  dread  sentence  written,  seared 
upon  these  very  walls,  Mene,  mene,  tekel  upharsin. 

The  splendour  of  wealth,  the  pride  of  empire 
have  vanished,  the  palaces  and  temples  have  fallen 
to  shapeless  mounds,  but  still  the  names  remain 
stamped  in  strange  characters  in  many  languages 
upon  innumerable  bricks,  "I  am  Hammurabi,  I 
reared  this  temple,"  "I  am  Nebuchadnezzar,  I 
built  this  palace,"  "I  am  Alexander,  mine  is  the 
conquest." 

As  we  explored  the  palaces  and  temples  we  passed 
groups  of  workmen  who  broke  into  a  noisy  chant 
as  we  approached  calling  upon  God  to  bless  our 
exalted  generosity.  In  fact  I  fear  they  shouted 
this  sentiment  more  from  the  desire  to  make  a 
noise  than  for  the  sake  of  any  blessing  that  might 
accrue  to  us  therefrom.  They  are  constantly 


70  The  Gate  of  Asia 

singing  at  their  work,  which  seemed  to  us  rather 
commendable  than  otherwise  until  we  were  told 
that  they  expended  far  more  energy  upon  their 
choruses  than  upon  their  work. 

That  evening,  toward  sunset,  we  strolled  across 
the  dry  channel  to  the  groves  of  palms  beside  the 
village.  Here  was  a  scene  of  peaceful  beauty  in 
strange  contrast  with  the  dead  city.  Overhead 
the  feathery  palm  leaves  lay  black  against  the 
reddening  sky.  Underfoot  grew  rich  green  grass 
fresh  with  moisture  from  the  irrigating  ditches 
which  had  been  kept  flowing  all  day  long.  In  the 
midst  of  the  grove  was  the  well,  a  shaft  fifty  feet 
deep.  The  sloping  palm  trunks  over  which  the 
waterskins  are  drawn  to  the  surface  stood  gaunt, 
uncanny  in  the  failing  light.  All  was  silent,  but 
there  was  an  odour  of  growing  things,  a  sense  of 
life,  and  the  air  was  full  of  moisture. 

We  turned  again  toward  the  palaces  where  once 
had  been  the  hanging  gardens  of  Babylon.  A 
great  change  has  been  wrought  since  those  ancient 
times.  The  city  is  an  abode  of  death.  Only  one 
living  thing  remains  in  this  tomb  of  perished  em- 
pires, only  a  single  voice  is  lifted  over  it.  A 
prophecy  remains  to  be  fulfilled.  The  sun  sinks 
out  of  sight  beyond  the  palm-trees;  the  sheep  are 
driven  to  the  shelter  of  their  fold.  The  gates  are 
closed  in  the  village  beyond  the  gardens  and  the 
cooking  smoke  of  evening  hovers  above  the  roofs. 
A  dim  grey  form  slinks  behind  a  pile  of  ancient 
bricks.  Off  among  the  ruins  a  quavering,  high- 


Journeying  to  Babylon  71 

pitched  cry  breaks  the  stillness.  Anguish  is  there 
and  despair;  then  the  cry  is  broken  by  screams  of 
mocking  laughter.  The  prophecy  is  fulfilled, 
"The  jackals  shall  howl  in  their  palaces  and  the 
wolves  in  their  pleasant  places." 

Slowly  we  strolled  back  to  the  hospitable  man- 
sion, and  sat  down  again  with  our  hosts.  The 
Herr  Professor  was  speaking : 

"This  neighbour  of  ours,  this  Sheikh  Seyid,  is 
most  trying.  It  is  on  his  account  that  for  a  year 
we  had  no  water  to  drink.  A  Persian  pilgrim 
strayed  from  the  road  and  came  to  the  Sheikh's 
house  at  night.  He  had  with  him  a  mule,  loaded 
with  two  large  boxes.  Such  an  opportunity  for 
securing  gain  was  not  to  be  missed.  So  the  Sheikh 
invited  the  pilgrim  to  enter  the  house.  But  no 
sooner  had  he  passed  the  door  than  he  received  a 
knife-thrust  in  the  belly. 

"Having  thus  done  a  pious  deed  in  slaying  an 
heretical  Shia,  the  holy  man  and  his  son  broke 
open  the  boxes  expecting  great  store  of  wealth. 
But  instead  of  carpets  and  silk  they  found  in  each 
box  the  embalmed  body  of  one  of  the  late  pil- 
grim's relatives. 

"This  sent  the  Sheikh  into  a  rage:  'It  is  the 
work  of  Sheitan,  the  work  of  Sheitan,  whom  those 
infidels  have  loosed  upon  us.  They  have  been 
digging  pits  in  the  Kasr  where  the  holy  Prophet 
imprisoned  him,  and  he  has  come  out  and  worked 
this  evil.' 

"So  he  set  out  to  avenge  himself  upon  us  poor 


72  The  Gate  of  Asia 

infidels.  He  and  his  son  brought  the  three  dead 
Persians  and  dropped  them  into  our  well.  When 
I  came  out  in  the  morning  I  could  see  a  black 
head  above  the  surface  of  the  water;  and  then," 
the  Professor  threw  up  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of 
despair,  "Ach!  by  the  waters  of  Babylon  I  sat 
down  and- wept." 

We  asked  the  Professor  if  he  had  found  any 
signs  of  the  handwriting  on  the  wall,  and  received 
this  explanation : 

'"That  the  incident  recorded  by  Daniel  was  an 
historic  fact,  so  far  as  the  prophet  himself  was 
present,  we  have  every  reason  to  believe.  More- 
over we  have  found  marks  that  would  be  suffi- 
ciently strange  to  attract  the  Babylonians,  and 
might  well  have  inspired  Daniel's  prophecy.  These 
were  the  marks  made  by  Persian  workmen,whom 
Nebuchadnezzar  imported  to  make  the  blue  and 
white  tiles  with  which  the  palace  and  its  gate  were 
ornamented.  I  believe  that  when  Cyrus's  army 
was  moving  down  the  Tigris,  and  Belshazzar  was 
celebrating  his  departure  for  the  battlefield,  some- 
one in  the  drunken  company  caught  sight  of  some 
of  these  marks.  The  attention  of  the  already 
frightened  courtiers  once  attracted,  with  the 
intensity  of  the  inebriated,  to  such  a  sign,  the 
story  of  the  hand  making  the  writing  would  easily 
develop.  Daniel  himself,  you  will  remember, 
was  not  in  the  room  when  this  apparition  was  seen. 

"Belshazzar  we  know  to  have  been  a  drunken 
weakling,  doubtless  crazed  with  fear  at  the  time. 


Journeying  to  Babylon  73 

So  the  sycophantic  flatteries  of  the  Chaldasan 
soothsayers  were  in  vain,  and  failed  to  dispel  the 
gloom  that  held  him,  and  the  presage  of  defeat. 
But  Daniel  was  a  man  of  different  calibre,  and  so 
well  did  his  bold  interpretation  of  the  ominous 
sign  suit  the  whim  of  the  King  that  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  accept  it.  Such  is  our  interpretation,  the 
scientific  interpretation  of  the  handwriting  on  the 
wall." 

We  retired  early  after  dining,  and  the  guest 
book  was  brought  to  us.  "You  must  write  some 
poetry,"  said  our  host:  "poetry  is  necessary." 
The  book  was  left  with  us  and  we  were  told  that 
we  should  get  no  breakfast  unless  a  satisfactory 
entry  appeared  in  the  morning. 

The  Kasr  mound,  which  the  Germans  are  ex- 
cavating, is  only  one  of  a  number  of  mounds  at 
Babylon,  all  surrounded  by  the  vast  walls,  described 
for  us  by  Herodotus,  walls  that  surround  an  area 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  square  miles.  A  short 
distance  away  is  the  still  greater  mound  of  Babil, 
supposed  to  have  been  a  zigurrat,  a  great  terraced 
pyramid  temple,  such  as  were  built  by  these  settlers 
in  the  plains  in  imitation  of  the  high  places  on  the 
mountain-tops,  where  their  hill-dwelling  ancestors 
had  been  wont  to  worship.  Local  tradition  lends 
it  further  glamour  by  pointing  it  out  as  the  impious 
tower  that  witnessed  the  confusion  of  tongues. 
But  the  Germans  have  excavated  another  zigur- 
rat, close  to  the  palace,  where  they  have  an  in- 
scription saying,  "I  have  builded  this  tower  as 


74  The  Gate  of  Asia 

high  as  the  sky."  Apparently  this  was  not  an 
uncommon  boast  among  the  temple  builders  of 
Mesopotamia. 

The  work  on  the  Kasr  mound  is  no  light  matter. 
Not  only  does  it  contain  the  palace  of  Nabopolas- 
sar  filled  up  by  his  more  powerful  son,  the  partly 
superimposed  palace  of  Nebuchadnezzar  himself, 
and  the  ruins  that  lie  below  them  both,  bearing 
the  traces  of  Sennacherib's  burning,  but  also 
temples,  built  of  mud  brick,  after  the  priestly 
tradition  that  refused  to  discard  the  materials  of 
old  time  for  the  new-fangled  burnt  bricks  of  the 
more  advanced  civilization.  Furthermore  suc- 
ceeding peoples  have  made  use  of  the  materials 
of  Babylonian  times,  and  the  excavators  have  to 
carefully  level  and  plan  the  ruins  of  Parthian  and 
Greek  structures,  built  of  bricks  purloined  from 
Nebuchadnezzar's  palace,  before  they  can  sweep 
them  away,  and  continue  their  exploration  of  the 
more  ancient  buildings.  In  later  times  came  the 
Arabs,  using  the  mounds  as  quarries,  and  building 
town  and  villages  with  bricks  bearing  the  boast- 
ful words  of  ancient  kings.  As  a  result  many  of 
the  walls  are  represented  by  trenches.  But  as 
they  were  built  to  last,  one  of  them  measuring 
twenty-five  yards  across,  they  are  not  as  difficult 
to  trace  as  might  at  first  glance  appear. 

Prof.  Koldewey  told  us  he  had  been  working 
there  at  Babylon  for  seven  years,  and  needed  as 
many  more  to  finish  the  single  mound.  Already 
he  had  completed  the  plans  of  the  two  old  palaces 


Journeying  to  Babylon  75 

that  formed  its  core,  as  well  as  those  of  scores  of 
less  important  buildings.  His  great  regret  was 
that  the  rising  water  level  would  put  a  stop  to  his 
downward  work,  as  soon  as  the  Hindia  barrage 
was  completed.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to  com- 
plain when  the  villagers  were  getting  renewed  life, 
not  though  it  meant  the  loss  to  him  for  ever  of 
those  undermost  ^palaces,  the  buildings  that  might 
perhaps  throw  most  light  on  the  history  of  a  long- 
buried  past. 

We  left  Babylon  in  another  arabana,  or  post- 
carriage,  taking  the  direct  road  to  Bagdad.  With 
us  came  an  old  grey-bearded  villager,  depending 
on  the  Effendis'  charity  for  assistance  in  his  jour- 
ney to  the  city.  We  were  soon  deep  in  conversa- 
tion with  him. 

"Inshallah,"  said  he,  "God  willing,  I  will  tell 
you  wherefore  I  journey  to  Bagdad.  Behold  by 
the  grace  of  Allah,  I  have  a  son  who  is  of  an  age 
to  marry.  I  go  therefore  to  the  house  of  my 
brother  whom  Allah  has  given  a  daughter.  Her 
will  I  take  back  to  my  son. 

"But  my  brother  is  a  poor  man,  Effendim,  and 
can  give  no  dower  to  his  daughter.  I  too  am  poor, 
the  truth  of  Allah,  and  have  a  daughter.  So  we 
have  arranged  that  he  also  shall  take  my  daughter 
for  his  son  without  a  dower,  and  I  am  relieved  of 
concern  for  her.  However  I  regret  that  there  is 
no  dower,  for  I  am  an  old  man,  and  very  poor." 

We  consoled  the  old  man  as  best  we  could. 
But  we  could  not  help  recalling  the  marriage 


76  The  Gate  of  Asia 

market  of  ancient  Babylon,  described  by  Herod- 
otus. He  tells  how  the  pretty  girls  were  sold  to 
the  highest  bidder,  and  the  money  thus  received 
used  as  portions  for  their  homely  sisters,  who  went 
to  the  man  who  was  willing  to  take  them  with  the 
smallest  dower.  So  all  were  successfully  married 
irrespective  of  face  or  fortune. 

It  is  a  good  ten  hours'  drive  to  Bagdad,  and  it 
was  with  stiff  joints  that  we  arrived,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  in  our  rattle-trap  stage-coach.  But 
the  walk  through  the  bazaars  and  back  across 
the  bridge  made  us  forget  the  discomforts  of  the 
journey.  Were  we  not  once  more  in  the  City  of 
the  Kalifs? 


CHAPTER  V 

BY  CARAVAN  TO  KURDISTAN  AND  THE  UPPER 
TIGRIS 

THE  fate  of  the  man  who  tried  to  hustle  the 
East  is  well  known,  and  most  of  us  have  a 
vague  idea  that  things  move  more  and  more  slowly 
the  farther  east  we  go.  But  the  real  difficulty  of 
getting  anything  started,  within  a  reasonable 
time,  anywhere  east  of  Suez,  must  be  experienced 
to  be  appreciated.  Indeed  haste  is  considered 
impious,  for  has  not  Allah  decreed  that  certain 
operations  shall  require  certain  well-known  lengths 
of  time?  It  is  by  the  will  of  Allah  that  a  given 
city  is  three  days'  journey  away,  and  another  ten, 
and  one  who  seeks  to  cover  the  distance  in  two 
days  or  nine  is  acting  against  his  decree.  The 
wheel  of  his  carriage  is  dished  against  an  irrigating 
ditch — it  is  the  punishment  of  Allah ;  a  pack  animal 
falls  over  the  river  bank  and  if  he  is  not  lost 
entirely  it  takes  time  to  rescue  him,  the  while  the 
traveller  sits  on  his  heels  and  reflects  upon  the 
fate  of  those  that  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence; 
the  ferryboat  is  on  the  far  side  of  the  river  and 
no  amount  of  shouting  will  arouse  its  crew — again 

77 


78  The  Gate  of  Asia 

it  is  the  work  of  the  Almighty  who  insists  that  it  is 
his  will  that  ten  days  and  not  nine  shall  be  occupied 
upon  this  journey.  Even  if  the  traveller  accepts 
the  time  set  by  divine  decree  he  may  be  the 
victim  of  unforeseen  delays,  which  are  not  ascribed 
to  the  devils  as  might  seem  appropriate,  but  to 
Allah;  and  he  who  resents  them  deserves  the  con- 
demnation of  the  deity.  If  it  rains  and  the 
roads  are  impassable,  it  is  the  will  of  Allah  that 
a  halt  should  be  made  until  the  sun  reappears;  if 
barley  is  scarce  and  the  horses  are  at  a  distant 
pasturage,  it  is  the  will  of  Allah  that  the  voyager 
smoke  his  pipe  until  such  time  as  they  may  be 
fetched;  if  the  torrent  is  in  spate  and  the  bridge 
carried  away,  that  also  is  Allah's  will,  and  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  true  Moslem  to  refrain  from  seeking 
a  ford  lest  he  suffer  heavily  for  his  presumption. 

So  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  we  stupid, 
impious  Americans  found  it  quite  impossible  to 
leave  Bagdad  according  to  schedule  but  were 
compelled  to  put  off  our  departure  from  day  to 
day.  Our  bargaining  was  done  at  the  consulate 
with  men  brought  in  by  the  kavass  Mohammed, 
who  has  served  for  many  years  as  guard  both  there 
and  with  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  excava- 
tors at  Nippur.  He  produced  first  a  handsomely 
dressed  individual,  in  the  softest  of  camel's  wool 
abas,  of  which  the  open  front  revealed  vest  and 
undergarment  of  pearl  grey  broadcloth,  while  the 
green  turban  of  a  Seyyid  completed  his  costume 
and  proclaimed  him  a  descendant  of  the  Prophet. 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    79 

He  was  a  broker  and  professed  to  have  the  best 
animals  in  the  bazaar  at  his  disposal.  His  courtesy 
was  unimpeachable,  his  mien  almost  majestic, 
his  speech  slow  and  flowery  as  became  a  person 
of  great  consequence,  but  his  prices  were  ridicu- 
lously high  and,  after  a  whole  morning  of  fruitless 
discussion  and  endless  consumption  of  tiny  cups 
of  coffee,  we  left  him  to  his  cronies  in  the  bazaar 
and  sought  elsewhere.  A  person  of  less  dignity 
and  greater  volubility  was  willing  to  let  us  horses 
at  a  reasonable  price  as  far  as  Mosul,  but  refused 
to  take  the  route  by  which  we  desired  to  travel. 
He  informed  us  in  the  gravest  manner  that  the 
people  along  the  route  we  had  chosen  were  beasts 
and  not  men,  and  that  they  were  wont  to  rend 
and  devour  those  who  dared  try  to  pass  through 
their  country. 

Finally,  when  many  had  been  interviewed  and 
found  wanting,  there  came  a  sharp  wiry  little  Arab, 
with  a  stubble  of  iron-grey  hairs  on  his  chin  and 
black  eyes  that  flashed  beneath  bushy  brows, 
under  a  much  soiled  head  kerchief ;  he  was  dressed 
in  a  ragged  aba,  striped  brown  and  white,  of  the 
coarsest  of  coarse  materials,  such  as  is  used  to 
cover  packs  from  the  weather;  his  feet  were  bare 
for  he  had  left  his  shoes  at  the  door  according 
to  custom,  and  his  undergarments  were  brown 
with  the  dust  of  many  journeys.  He  talked  with 
the  high  sharp  voice  that  is  characteristic  of 
muleteers  and  comes  from  shouting  at  lagging 
animals;  his  speech  was  coarse  but  merry,  for  he 


8o  The  Gate  of  Asia 

broke  out  at  intervals  in  cackling  guffaws.  He 
proved  to  be  a  man  after  our  own  heart,  for  he 
professed  no  fear  of  any  route,  but  would  go  where 
we  pleased;  his  prices  were  fair  and  we  beat  him 
down  in  time  to  a  reasonable  figure.  His  animals 
were  outside  the  city  at  pasture,  but  the  time 
required  to  bring  them  in  dwindled  down  to  a  day 
and  he  was  willing  to  leave  the  day  after  that. 
By  this  time  it  was  late  and  he  promised  to  appear 
in  the  morning,  when  the  official  witnesses  were 
available,  to  sign  the  contract  which  is  necessary 
in  all  such  transactions  in  Turkey. 

But  on  the  morrow  he  failed  to  appear  and  we 
had  to  send  Mohammed  to  the  bazaar  to  find  him. 
In  time  he  was  brought  in  and  said  he  had  thought 
better  of  his  bargain  and  repudiated  it,  asking 
twice  the  price  agreed  upon.  So  everything  had  to 
be  done  over  again  and  at  last  we  reached  another 
agreement.  This  time  a  contract  was  carefully 
drawn  up,  signed,  stamped,  and  sealed.  Mean- 
while the  rascal  had  done  nothing  about  bringing 
in  his  horses,  and  another  day  was  lost.  But 
after  the  contract  was  made  there  could  be  no 
further  delay,  for  that  instrument  provided  for  a 
forfeiture  of  part  of  the  hire  of  the  animals  in  the 
case  of  a  halt  caused  by  the  muleteers,  and  obli- 
gated us  to  pay  for  the  animals'  food  if  we  desired 
to  make  a  stopover  en  route. 

The  horses  thus  secured  were  as  weedy  a  lot  of 
old  screws  as  the  bazaars  of  Bagdad  or  any  other 
place  could  well  produce.  Such  animals  are  not 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    81 

to  be  seen  in  a  civilized  country  for  their  type  dis- 
appears like  the  donkey  before  the  steam-engine, 
the  electric  car,  and  the  auto-truck.  But  in 
Turkey  the  transport  of  merchandise  is  entirely 
on  the  backs  of  animals,  except  over  a  few  routes 
in  Asia  Minor  and  Syria  where  there  are  some 
pampered  little  railway  lines.  Consequently  the 
khans  of  a  large  city  are  always  crowded  with 
pitiful  nags,  their  backs  so  covered  with  festering 
sores  from  the  constant  rub  of  heated  pack- 
saddles  that,  when  these  saddles  are  removed, 
there  arises  a  stench  almost  overpoweringly 
offensive  to  tender  Western  nostrils.  These 
beasts  of  ours,  having  been  on  grass,  were  fairly 
well  healed,  but  great  white  scars  on  back  and 
breast  attested  the  suffering  of  former  journeys. 
There  were  six  scrawny  pack  horses  that  held 
drooping  heads  below  the  level  of  bony  shoulders, 
all  save  one,  the  white  mare  that  wore  a  bell  and 
always  led  the  caravan  with  head  held  high  as 
if  conscious  of  her  high  estate.  Of  our  two  riding 
animals  the  less  said  the  better.  To  Edwin  War- 
field's  lot  fell  a  rather  nice  looking  little  pony  that 
was  destined  to  give  out  in  a  few  days  from  the 
effects  of  starvation  and  a  broken  wind.  My 
steed  was  a  raw-boned  veteran  with  an  unusual 
array  of  scars  that  stood  out  white  on  a  sorrel 
background;  his  snake-like  neck  was  so  stiff 
that  he  was  quite  incapable  of  raising  his  head 
above  his  shoulders;  he  had  a  most  villainous 
countenance  and  an  eye  showing  the  vestiges  of  a 


82  The  Gate  of  Asia 

sulky  temper,  long  since  broken  by  overwork; 
finally  he  was  so  badly  shod  behind  that  his  hoofs 
were  hopelessly  deformed  and  he  seemed  to  be 
standing  on  the  very  tip  of  his  toes.  Every  one 
of  the  eight  beasts  was  laughably  "cow-hocked," 
a  deformity  that  is  quite  universal  in  this  country 
where  a  colt  is  ridden  at  so  tender  an  age  that  its 
legs  simply  cannot  stand  the  weight  and  become 
crooked  in  consequence.  As  we  looked  over  this 
sorry  aggregation  we  recalled  stories  we  had 
heard  in  childhood  of  gallant  Arab  steeds,  and 
then  remembered  with  pleasure  that,  though  we 
had  contracted  to  pay  our  Arab  friend  several 
times  the  value  of  his  nags,  there  was  no  stipula- 
tion that  title  should  pass  to  us  at  this  or  any 
future  time. 

With  the  owner  of  our  caravan  were  three  other 
men,  comparatively  young,  with  typical  Arab 
features,  all  dressed  in  the  same  rough-and-ready 
fashion  as  their  leader.  Our  party  was  completed 
by  a  servant,  Asoufi  ibn  Jeju  (Joseph  son  of 
Jesus),  a  Chaldsean  of  Bagdad  whom  we  succeeded 
in  engaging  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  accompany 
us  as  cook  and  interpreter,  in  place  of  the  faithless 
Thomas  whose  fears  overcame  his  greed  for 
gold.  He  was  a  small  man,  not  over  thirty,  with  a 
pleasant  enough  face,  who  had  served  in  the  house 
of  some  English  residents  and  picked  up  a  smatter- 
ing of  their  language;  he  was  to  prove  an  excellent 
camp  cook,  honest  and  faithful  in  every  way. 

At  last  the  day  arrived  that  was  to  witness  our 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris     83 

departure  from  the  city  of  the  kalif s.  The  caravan 
was  in  the  street  long  before  dawn.  Asoufi 
awakened  us  and  carried  the  baggage  to  the  court, 
where  it  was  sorted  out  for  packing.  Mohammed, 
the  kavass,  was  in  attendance  lending  sanction  to 
our  going,  as  did  two  blue-uniformed  zaptiehs, 
who  were  to  form  our  guard  on  the  first  stage  of 
our  journey.  It  was  cold,  as  the  mornings  of 
early  March  are  apt  to  be,  and  we  partook  shiver- 
ingly  of  breakfast  and  then  discussed  our  reckoning 
with  Fransu  our  host.  This  over  we  found  the 
loads  already  roped  to  the  thick  pads  that  serve 
as  pack-saddles  and  ready  to  move.  There  were 
two  very  light  "miner's  tents"  and  full  camping 
equipment,  a  rifle  and  shotgun  for  each  of  us,  for 
we  were  looking  forward  keenly  to  the  sport  we 
might  expect  in  the  mountains,  and  a  very  limited 
supply  of  tinned  goods  such  as  beef,  jam,  butter, 
and  crackers.  Oranges  we  carried  in  considerable 
quantity  and  we  had  a  small  stock  of  rice,  potatoes, 
and  dates  which  we  planned  to  renew  at  intervals 
and  eke  out  with  fowls,  eggs,  and  native  bread 
purchased  on  the  way.  Our  wardrobe  was  ne- 
cessarily limited  but  we  had  to  be  provided  both 
for  very  cold  and  very  hot  weather  and  carry 
a  suit  of  "store-clothes"  for  the  time  we  expected 
to  spend  in  civilization,  in  the  far-away  Caucasus 
and  Constantinople,  for  our  trunks  had  been  sent 
to  Vienna  from  Bombay.  All  this  we  sent  ahead 
on  the  pack  horses  with  Asoufi  and  his  bedding 
and  a  zaptieh  as  guard,  while  we  rode  to  the  Ot- 


84  The  Gate  of  Asia 

toman  Bank  to  finish  some  business  that  had 
dragged  on  as  things  will  in  the  East. 

Then  we  made  our  way  through  the  jostling 
throngs  in  the  crowded  bazaars,  past  the  govern- 
ment building  with  the  green-clad  sentries,  and 
out  by  the  picturesque  north  gate  of  the  city 
where  the  caravans  gather,  and  whence  the  desert 
stretches  away  without  a  break  save  a  few  low, 
narrow  ridges  of  clay  that  mark  the  dry  beds  of 
disused  irrigating  ditches.  Having  passed  the 
groups  of  camels  that  always  stand  about  here 
and  followed  the  zaptieh  across  the  tangled  maze 
of  tracks  from  which  he  finally  chose  the  one  we 
were  to  follow,  we  turned  upon  one  of  those 
ditches  and  looked  back  toward  the  city.  Dimly 
outlined  against  the  sky  were  the  minarets  and 
domes  of  Bagdad.  Before  them  the  mirage  spread 
a  sheet  of  crystal  water,  and  along  the  way  we  had 
come  a  caravan  of  camels  was  clearly  reflected 
in  the  shining  pools  of  a  great  marsh,  where  we 
knew  was  nought  but  sun-baked  clay.  We  took 
a  last  look  at  the  historic  city  and  bade  its  romance- 
haunted  towers  a  final  farewell.  Then  on  we  rode, 
glancing  back  ever  and  anon  to  see  the  mirage 
creep  nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  city  rose  into 
the  sky,  was  reversed  in  the  ghostly  waters,  and 
then  disappeared.  It  seemed  to  have  been  trans- 
ported by  the  magic  carpet  back  into  the  pages  of 
the  Arabian  Nights  whence  we  had  conjured  it  a 
fortnight  ago. 

That  first  day  was  much  like  our  journey  to 


I 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    85 

Babylon  which  I  have  already  described.  We 
marched  over  flat  clay  desert,  broken  only  by  an 
occasional  square  mound,  marking  the  site  of  a 
forgotten  mud  village,  or  the  half -ruined  tomb  of 
a  saint.  We  encountered  party  after  party  of 
Persian  pilgrims  and  not  a  few  merchandise 
caravans  of  camels,  horses,  and  mules.  Upon 
this  road  there  is  a  large  traffic  in  tobacco  brought 
down,  in  large  bales,  chiefly  from  Persia.  Being 
a  most  profitable  article  of  commerce  it  is  usually 
borne  by  the  best  animals,  generally  horses. 
They  move  along  pretty  rapidly  for  pack  animals, 
led  by  a  big  stallion  gaily  decorated  with  tassels 
and  hung  with  a  profusion  of  bells.  Every 
caravan  has  a  few  bells  and  their  constant  tinkling 
is  the  most  familiar  sound  of  the  road. 

It  is  the  universal  custom  with  caravans  to 
make  a  very  short  march  the  first  day.  So  we 
camped  at  the  first  water  we  came  to  after  leaving 
Bagdad,  having  journeyed  about  six  hours.  It 
was  a  foul  pool  of  muddy  water  beside  the  high 
blank  walls  of.  a  great  caravanserai,  called  Khan 
Beni  Sahat.  It  is  a  splendid  building  in  the 
Persian  style,  such  as  the  kalifs  used  to  build 
when  this  now  desert  country  was  the  garden 
spot  of  the  world.  A  few  such  buildings  are  still 
to  be  seen  in  Persia,  but  this  is  the  only  one  we 
encountered  in  Turkey.  Its  outer  walls  rise  as 
high  as  a  two-storey  house  around  a  space  some 
fifty  yards  square,  and  are  broken  only  by  a  huge 
doorway,  almost  as  high  as  the  wall,  in  the  shape 


86  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  the  graceful  pointed  arch  that  is  characteristic 
of  Persian  architecture.  The  doorway  is  closed 
by  a  massive  wooden  gate  studded  with  iron. 
Within  is  a  courtyard  in  which  scores  of  camels 
were  kneeling,  while  their  masters  and  a  number 
of  pilgrims  were  ensconced  in  deep  niches  which 
completely  surrounded  it.  The  niches,  finished 
like  the  doorway  with  the  pointed  arch,  were  good- 
sized  rooms,  so  thick  was  the  brickwork ;  and  each 
was  lighted  by  a  glowing  fire  of  charcoal  just 
bright  enough  to  set  off  the  dark  figures  around  it. 
The  sight  was  intensely  Eastern  and  harked  back 
to  the  magnificent  days  of  the  Abbasids.  The 
shapely  niches,  shadowing  the  cooking  fires  of 
evening,  the  kneeling  camels,  and  the  high  walls 
with  the  massive  doorway,  formed  such  a  picture 
as  Marco  Polo  must  have  seen  in  his  pioneer 
journey  to  these  very  lands. 

We  did  not  stop  in  this  historic  inn  but  in  one 
of  the  lesser  ones  that  surrounded  it.  There  we 
stabled  our  horses,  and  pitched  our  tent  in  a 
ruined  courtyard  outside.  This  operation  was 
interestedly  watched  by  a  group  of  hangers-on. 
Like  all  the  Arabs  we  encountered  they  were 
silent  and  courteous,  never  in  the  way,  and  never 
trying  to  see  more  than  was  laid  open  to  view. 
When  Asoufi  brought  us  tea  made  from  the 
water  of  the  place,  they  delicately  left  us;  all  of 
which  was  quite  different  from  the  way  their 
Kurdish  neighbours  behaved  as  we  journeyed  north- 
ward. The  tea  we  had  to  make  quite  strong  to 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    87 

conceal  the  colour  and  odour  of  the  water.  Like 
every  desert  pool,  the  one  here  was  used  indiffer- 
ently for  washing  and  drinking,  while  all  the 
drainage  of  the  place  runs  into  it,  and  it  is  kept 
stirred  up  by  the  animals.  Even  at  that  we  had 
to  pay  for  it  at  the  rate  of  a  piastre  and  a  half 
(six  cents)  a  bucket.  Fowls,  however,  we  found  far 
from  expensive  for  we  secured  a  pair  for  eighteen 
cents. 

One  generally  thinks  of  this  country  of  Mesopo- 
tamia as  hot,  and  hot  it  is  in  the  summer.  But 
that  March  night  was  bitter  cold  and  we  shivered 
all  through  it  in  our  sleeping-bags  on  the  cold 
ground.  When  we  rose  by  the  light  of  a  brilliant 
moon  an  hour  before  the  dawn,  the  water  in  which 
we  essayed  to  wash  was  quickly  covered  by  a  film 
of  ice.  We  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  warm 
clothes  and  starting  away  in  the  chill  grey  dawn. 

This  early  rising  became  our  daily  custom  during 
the  months  we  spent  upon  this  expedition.  It  is 
decidedly  to  be  recommended,  for  the  usual  day's 
journey  takes  about  eight  hours  and  may  stretch 
to  ten,  without  counting  time  occupied  in  crossing 
rivers  in  ferryboats,  as  we  constantly  had  to  do  in 
the  mountains.  While  on  the  march  the  baggage 
animals  plod  along  steadily  at  about  three  miles 
an  hour  without  a  halt.  We  ourselves  used  to 
ride  ahead  often  taking  one  of  the  two  zaptiehs 
as  guide.  We  constantly  left  the  road  to  examine 
a  ruin  or  to  find  a  view,  and  later  to  make  geological 
observations.  If  an  early  start  is  made,  there  is 


88  The  Gate  of  Asia 

plenty  of  time  to  linger  by  the  way  if  anything  of 
interest  presents,  and  at  the  end  of  the  day  a  few 
hours  of  daylight  remain  for  sightseeing  or  any 
other  occupation  the  traveller  may  be  interested 
in. 

About  noon  of  this  second  day  we  reached  the 
Diala  River,  the  most  southerly  affluent  of  the 
Tigris,  which  it  joins  some  ten  miles  below  Bagdad. 
On  its  banks  we  passed  the  ancient  town  of  Bakuba, 
thirty  miles  from  the  capital,  which  is  the  only 
town  of  any  consequence  remaining  in  this  pnce 
populous  neighbourhood.  Its  position  on  the 
bank  of  a  river  has  saved  it  from  the  destruction 
that  overtook  scores  of  others  when  the  irrigating 
canals  were  allowed  to  decay.  It  is  now  hidden  by 
groves  of  palm  trees,  behind  high  walls,  irrigated 
by  water  hoists  operating  on  the  precipitous  clay 
banks  of  the  Diala. 

All  day  our  road  followed  this  river,  meandering 
capriciously  among  a  maze  of  low  mounds  indicat- 
ing recently  abandoned  cultivation.  There  was 
an  occasional  village  on  the  top  of  a  high  bank, 
and  we  still  met  camels  and  pilgrims,  though 
less  frequently  than  before.  Such  a  road  is  not  a 
road  at  all  as  we  know  it  but  a  collection  of  foot- 
paths that  sometimes  merge  into  one  and  then 
spread  out  in  a  flat  place  like  a  fan.  Post-car- 
riages run  to  Bakuba  and  there  we  saw  wheel- 
marks,  but  beyond  there  is  only  caravan  travel, 
and  consequently  no  marks  but  those  made  by  the 
hoofs  of  animals  marching  always  head  to  tail. 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    89 

The  road  is  very  dusty  and  usually  quite  without 
vegetation,  though  here  on  the  river  bank  we 
found  crocuses  and  little  red  tulips. 

Travelling  by  such  a  road  we  came  to  a  couple 
of  mud-walled  inns  beside  a  palm  grove,  and  rode 
up  to  them  with  a  party  of  pilgrims  on  their  way 
back  to  Persia.  They  entered  one  of  the  khans 
through  a  low  doorway  in  a  mud  wall  capped 
with  camel-thorn.  This  device  is  to  keep  out 
thieves  and  is  exactly  paralleled  in  Europe  and 
America  by  the  familiar  custom  of  covering  a 
coping  with  broken  glass. 

After  a  dip  in  the  swift  but  brackish  river  we 
camped  in  the  other  inn,  which  merits  a  brief 
notice  because  it  is  typical  of  the  poorer  class  of 
khans  that  are  scattered  along  these  desert  roads. 
It  was  built  around  a  court  some  thirty  yards 
square  on  three  sides  of  which  were  cloister-like 
corridors  in  which  the  horses  were  stabled.  On 
the  fourth  side  was  a  high  doorway,  big  enough 
to  admit  a  loaded  camel,  and  rooms  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  travellers,  dark  and  stuffy,  with  a 
low  door,  no  windows,  and  walls  black  with  char- 
coal smoke.  In  such  an  inn  we  pitched  our  tent 
in  the  cleanest  place  we  could  find.  They  were 
never  very  dirty  for  the  desert  sun  is  the  best 
disinfectant  in  the  world.  Here  at  this  khan  by 
the  Diala  the  only  other  occupants  were  a  flock  of 
sheep  driven  in  at  sunset  by  a  ragged  young 
shepherd.  That  night,  like  all  those  we  spent 
in  the  desert,  was  very  beautiful.  Through  the 


90  The  Gate  of  Asia 

cold  dry  atmosphere  the  brillant  stars  shed  a  rare 
effulgence  over  the  dark  cloisters,  discovering 
mysteriously  the  sleeping  sheep  that  huddled  in  a 
corner.  Our  brown  pyramid  tents  in  the  centre, 
glowing  with  the  lamps  within,  were  exotic  enough, 
but  seemed  to  blend  with  their  surroundings  and 
lent  a  familiar,  almost  homelike  touch,  to  a  scene 
that  would  otherwise  have  been  bleak  enough 
despite  its  romantic  atmosphere. 

The  next  day  we  passed  through  country  that 
became  more  and  more  hummocky  and  was 
fairly  well  watered  by  streams  that  have  been 
diverted  from  the  Diala  in  fairly  ancient  times, 
and  are  the  ruins  of  a  once  splendid  irrigating 
system.  But  too  long  continued  irrigation  without 
proper  precautions  has  resulted  in  the  soil  becom- 
ing impregnated  with  salt,  so  that  it  is  quite  useless 
except  where  water  is  very  plentiful.  Many  of 
the  smaller  streams  are  so  salty  as  to  be  almost 
undrinkable  and  all  are  noticeably  brackish. 
They  are  in  deep  beds  with  more  or  less  steep 
banks  and  a  considerable  current,  without  which 
they  would  soon  fill  up  with  silt  and  become  ridges 
like  their  counterparts  near  Bagdad. 

One  of  them  we  crossed  by  a  really  handsome 
bridge  of  enduring  brickwork  that  was  built  under 
Persian  influence  and  certainly  dates  from  pre- 
Turkish  times,  very  likely  from  early  Mohamme- 
dan. An  excellent  roadway  is  supported  by  six 
narrow  pointed  arches  of  massive  brickwork, 
giving  an  impression  of  strength  and  solidity. 


Q 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    91 

The  piers  are  excellently  made  and  skilfully  shaped 
so  as  to  resist  the  erosion  of  the  current.  The 
approaches  of  the  bridge  are  strong  abutments, 
built  so  as  to  resist  the  tendency  to  undermine  the 
banks.  All  this  presents  a  strange  contrast  to  the 
Turkish  bridges  I  shall  have  occasion  to  describe 
later,  which  have  weak,  ill-planned  arches,  in- 
sufficient piers,  and  no  roadways,  so  that  the 
caravan  animals  have  to  clamber  up  one  side  of  a 
steep  arch  and  slide  down  the  other  as  best  they 
can.  So  usual  is  this  that  the  fact  that  there  are 
bridges  on  a  certain  road  increases  the  price  that 
must  be  paid  for  animals  to  travel  it,  especially 
if  a  carriage  is  used. 

Cold  as  were  the  nights  and  cheerless  the 
mornings,  the  sun  was  quite  powerful  at  midday 
and  the  temperature  would  rise  from  five  or  ten 
degrees  of  frost  to  very  nearly  eighty,  making  us 
roll  up  coats  and  sweaters  and  ride  in  our  shirt 
sleeves.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  the  bare 
ground  reflects  the  full  force  of  the  sun  and  does 
not  store  up  any  heat  to  temper  the  sunless  hours. 
Besides  the  heat  of  the  sun  we  occasionally  en- 
countered clouds  of  tiny  biting  flies  that  rose 
from  the  very  roadway  and  settled  on  every  ex- 
posed spot  that  was  not  kept  in  rapid  motion. 
In  spite  of  furious  fanning  we  generally  came 
out  the  worse  for  their  attentions. 

We  camped  that  night  in  the  last  Arab  village 
that  we  were  to  encounter  before  reaching  Mosul. 
We  found  a  typical  khan  beside  a  brackish  water- 


92  The  Gate  of  Asia 

course  spanned  by  an  excellent  bridge  of  three 
round  arches.  The  inn  in  this  village  of  Deli 
Abbas  boasted  a  second  story  of  a  single  room 
with  three  barred  windows,  built  over  the  section 
intended  for  travellers'  use,  beside  the  high 
doorway.  The  village  consisted  of  ramshackle 
mud  huts,  the  more  pretentious  provided  with 
flat  domes  like  those  of  Bagdad.  Above  them 
rose  the  picturesque  palms  that  are  always  to  be 
seen  about  human  habitations  in  this  land  of 
Mesopotamia.  Across  the  stream  were  large 
walled  date  gardens,  and  beyond,  orchards  of 
blossoming  almond  and  pomegranate.  Among 
the  palms  were  closely  walled  mud  huts  with 
narrow  doors  giving  glimpses  of  squalid  interiors 
occupied  by  red-robed,  dirty-faced  children,  and 
sleeping  dogs.  On  every  convenient  corner  of  the 
dilapidated  walls  was  a  newly  made  stork's  nest 
with  a  black  and  white,  red-beaked  parent-to-be 
sitting  contentedly  in  the  midst  of  the  piled-up 
rubbish  where  her  mate  would  soon  join  her,  re- 
turning for  the  night  from  his  rummaging  after 
rats  and  frogs  along  the  river  bank. 

These  awkward,  but  picturesque,  birds  are 
characteristic  sights  in  these  villages.  They  are 
always  clean  and  attractive,  which  the  people 
are  not.  Without  them  and  the  palm-trees  the 
habitations  would  be  ugly  and  colourless.  The 
Arabs  call  the  bird  haji  kleklek,  referring  to  his 
migratory  habit,  for  haji  means  pilgrim,  and  the 
noise  he  makes  with  his  bill,  a  sharp  clattering 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    93 

sound,  always  to  be  heard  at  sunset  and  sunrise. 
They  are  far  from  being  the  only  feathered  haunters 
of  the  groves  and  villages  for  the  pretty  crested 
hoopoes  are  often  to  be  seen,  ceaselessly  searching 
walls  and  trees  for  insects  and  occasionally  utter- 
ing their  pleasant  call.  They  are  not  unlike  the 
American  flicker  and  quite  similar  in  habit.  The 
glossy  black  and  white  magpies  are  to  be  seen 
constantly,  hopping  about  gracefully  balanced 
by  their  long  tails,  always  sociable  and  inclined 
to  be  pert.  Here  at  Deli  Abbas  there  were  also 
large  numbers  of  doves,  coming  in  from  their 
feeding-ground  in  some  fields  beyond  the  groves 
and  flying  about  in  the  trees  preparatory  to  going 
to  roost. 

These  suggested  a  pleasant  variation  in  our 
menu  and  Edwin  Warfield  set  out  with  a  gun  to 
act  upon  that  suggestion.  While  so  occupied 
he  foregathered  with  a  grey-bearded  villager  upon 
a  similar  mission.  He  was  armed  with  an  anti- 
quated fowling  piece,  wrapped  with  wire  to  prevent 
its  bursting.  The  lock,  of  a  long  obsolete  percus- 
sion pattern,  was  attached  to  the  stock  with  a 
piece  of  twine.  After  the  fashion  of  sportsmen 
the  two  compared  notes,  and  weapons,  and  then 
the  greybeard  set  out  to  show  his  skill.  Upon 
a  palm  leaf  that  overhung  the  wall  beside  them 
sat  a  fat  magpie,  wisely  cocking  his  head,  and 
blinking  at  the  strangers  beneath.  The  old  man 
raised  his  piece  to  within  a  couple  of  feet  of  the 
bird,  who  began  to  look  amused  as  he  peered 


94  The  Gate  of  Asia 

down  the  gaping  barrel.  Taking  careful  aim 
the  sportsman  pulled  the  trigger.  There  was  a 
sound  like  the  bursting  of  a  paper  bag,  a  large 
puff  of  smoke,  and  the  bird  flew  jauntily  off  to 
another  tree. 

These  Arabs  know  how  to  make  more  serious 
use  of  firearms,  however.  That  very  night  we 
heard  the  crack  of  rifles,  and  the  sound  of  running 
feet,  and  learned  next  morning  that  a  certain 
one  had  killed  his  enemy.  Such  killings  are 
often  the  result  of  blood  feuds,  which  are,  however, 
less  common  and  far  less  long-lived  than  among 
the  Kurds,  who  are  less  emotional  but  more 
vindictive. 

The  following  day  we  crossed  the  Hamrin  hills, 
an  old  sea  margin,  a  great  deposit  of  sand  and 
pebbles,  built  up  by  the  waves  of  the  Persian 
Gulf,  before  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  had  carried 
down  the  enormous  deposits  of  silt  that  have 
formed  Mesopotamia.  Behind  this  deposit  a 
valley  has  been  cut  and  the  wind  and  rain  of 
centuries  have  carried  away  much  of  the  sand 
and  pebbles  leaving  a  ridge  made  up  of  a  jumbled 
mass  of  conical  hills.  On  the  other  side  we 
came  to  the  Diala  again.  This  river  waters  the 
valley  and  cuts  through  the  ridge  below  where 
we  crossed  it.  Here  in  this  great  flat  valley, 
averaging  ten  miles  in  width,  there  is  some  cultiva- 
tion, but  not  nearly  as  much  as  there  might  be  if 
full  use  were  made  of  the  streams  that  receive  a 
fairly  constant  supply  of  water  from  the  hills  on 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    95 

the  north-east.  This  is  chiefly  due  to  the  laziness 
of  the  people,  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the 
parching  summer  sun  is  a  deterrent  to  agriculture. 

Marching  through  this  valley  we  came  to  Kara 
Tepe,  our  first  stone-built  village.  The  people 
too  are  different,  for  though  Arabs  were  to  be  seen 
in  the  streets,  and  though  the  town  bears  a  Turkish 
name,  most  of  the  people  were  Kurds.  We  were 
now  in  southern  Kurdistan  and  beginning  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  a  people  of  whom  we 
were  to  see  a  great  deal.  They  are  a  light  people, 
blue-eyed,  and  commonly  with  flaxen  and  red 
hair.  Here  in  the  south  their  dress  differs  little 
from  the  Arabs,  but  they  are  usually  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  a  turban,  generally  of  blue  cotton, 
wound  around  a  close-fitting  skull-cap  of  embroid- 
ered cotton  cloth.  On  entering  this  country  our 
muleteers  also  adopted  that  headdress,  when  but 
for  their  dark  complexions  and  sharp  noses  they 
might  have  been  taken  for  the  village  Kurds. 
We  often  saw  men  with  zouave  jackets  embroid- 
ered with  gold  and  silver,  but  these  men  were  not 
of  the  local  population,  being  wayfarers  from 
farther  east.  Many  of  them  wore  trousers, 
unknown  among  the  Arabs,  made  very  baggy 
but  drawn  in  around  the  ankles.  Among  the 
local  townspeople  all  the  way  to  Mosul  we  found 
the  aba  quite  generally  worn,  but  it  was  often 
of  dark  blue  cloth,  while  among  the  Arabs  brown 
and  black  are  the  only  colours  used. 

There  were  several  inns  in  the  town,  and  the 


96  The  Gate  of  Asia 

one  in  which  we  stopped  was  very  large  and 
picturesque,  with  its  cloistered  stables  and  a 
cloistered  upper  storey  over  the  gate.  The  latter 
was  occupied  by  the  last  caravan  of  Persian  pil- 
grims we  were  to  meet.  Several  merchandise 
caravans  were  amply  provided  for  in  the  capacious 
stables,  and  we  easily  found  an  unoccupied  corner 
in  the  broad  court-yard  to  pitch  our  tent.  On 
the  opposite  side  a  caravan  was  unpacked,  and  the 
saddles  were  removed  from  the  galled  backs 
preparatory  to  rubbing  down  the  horses.  Un- 
fortunately the  wind  was  in  our  direction  and 
brought  with  it  the  foul  odour  of  putrefaction 
that  had  been  going  on  under  those  saddles  all 
day  long. 

Another  day's  journey  northward  took  us 
through  low  rolling  hills  to  the  large  market  town 
of  Kifri.  It  was  built  of  dark  sandstone,  and  had 
a  bazaar,  roofed  like  those  of  Bagdad,  but  smaller. 
We  rode  under  the  vaulted  roof  between  rows  of 
booths  where  goods  were  exposed  for  sale.  In 
one  street  were  baskets  of  dates,  raisins,  and 
apricots;  bags  of  rice  and  potatoes,  grains, 
and  other  edibles.  Then  we  turned  a  corner  and 
found  in  the  booths  only  articles  of  clothing, 
embroidered  zouave  jackets,  long  tunics,  baggy 
trousers,  and  abas.  From  this  bazaar  we  turned 
quite  suddenly  into  a  narrow  door  that  led  into  the 
court-yard  of  an  inn.  The  court  was  small  and 
paved,  so  it  was  impossible  to  pitch  a  tent.  But 
above  there  was  a  cloister-like  gallery  with  rooms 


ex 

a 

a 
O 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    97 

behind  it.  In  one  of  these  we  placed  our  goods 
and  prepared  to  sleep  on  the  "verandah"  outside. 

The  people  here  were  offensively  curious,  crowd- 
ing around  us,  laughing  and  mimicking  us,  and 
indulging  in  rude  horseplay  among  themselves. 
When  we  went  out  to  take  pictures  and  look 
around  the  town  we  were  followed  by  a  hooting 
mob  that  we  could  shake  off  only  by  returning  to 
the  inn  and  ordering  the  great  wooden  gate  shut 
behind  us.  Such  treatment  is  almost  unheard 
of  among  Arabs,  who  are  always  quiet  and  cour- 
teous. It  is  rare  too  among  the  Kurds,  who 
have  a  high  sense  of  hospitality  and  will  not  an- 
noy a  guest.  But  this  town  of  Kifri,  like  many 
of  the  larger  places  in  this  region,  is  largely 
Turkish.  These  Turks  belong  to  a  tribe,  quite 
distinct  from  the  Ottomans  and  the  Seljuks,  that 
settled  here  early  in  the  thirteenth  century  and 
formed  an  almost  independent  kingdom,  though 
they  were  made  to  pay  tribute  at  times  both  to 
Bagdad  and  to  the  Seljuk  Sultan  at  Koniah. 
Their  centre  has  always  been  at  the  large  city  of 
Kerkuk,  eight  days'  march  from  Bagdad,  of  which 
I  shall  have  much  to  say  later. 

The  next  morning  we  set  out  for  Tuz  Karmati 
along  the  foot  of  a  ridge  of  sharp  hills  broken 
now  and  again  by  a  gorge  through  which  runs  a 
considerable  torrent  during  the  season  of  winter 
rains.  During  that  season  the  valley  that  spread 
out  on  our  left  is  a  great  swamp,  but  in  the  summer 
it  is  thoroughly  baked.  A  little  care  would  make 


98  The  Gate  of  Asia 

it  as  highly  productive  as  it  once  was,  a  fact  that  is 
borne  witness  to  by  frequent  mounds.  Many  of 
these  are  mere  barrows  such  as  were  built  in 
Europe  by  prehistoric  peoples  and  by  some  of  the 
Indian  tribes  in  America.  But  there  are  some 
very  large  ones  that  must  cover  the  ruins  of 
castles  and  temples  dating,  belike,  from  Assyrian 
times. 

Early  in  the  day  we  were  overtaken  by  a  well- 
dressed  Kurd  with  blue  eyes  and  a  burly  red 
moustache.  He  rode  a  handsome  grey  mare,  and 
carried  across  his  saddle-bow  a  Martini  rifle, 
made  locally  in  imitation  of  the  old  British  army 
pattern.  He  entered  into  conversation  with  us, 
speaking  Kurdish  to  one  of  our  zaptiehs  who 
translated  into  Arabic  to  Asoufi  who  translated 
into  English  to  us.  He  asked  our  nation  and 
parentage  and  the  object  of  our  journey  and 
explained  that  he  was  mudir  or  mayor  of  Tuz 
Karmati,  our  next  stop.  On  carrying  our  acquaint- 
ance further  he  asked  us  to  dine  with  him  that 
evening.  We  accepted  with  pleasure  and  he 
thereupon  rode  away  with  his  servant,  his  zaptieh, 
and  his  greyhound  to  prepare  for  our  coming. 

We  reached  Tuz  at  the  end  of  the  day  and  found 
it  a  rather  large  village,  picturesquely  located 
beside  a  wide  stream-bed  at  the  foot  of  a  gorge. 
A  few  palm-trees  rose  among  the  houses  and  over- 
looked the  mud-walled  orchards  where  the  apricot 
and  almond  trees  were  rich  with  delicate  bloom. 
We  rode  through  the  little  bazaar  and  turned 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris    99 

from  it  into  the  inn  yard.  You  can  easily  imagine 
the  care  with  which  we  removed  the  stains  of 
travel  before  permitting  a  servant  to  guide  us  to 
the  mudir's  house.  We  found  our  host  seated 
upon  a  divan  in  the  street  before  his  door.  With 
him  was  a  sharp-faced  man  in  Turkish  dress. 
After  profound  greetings  we  were  offered  a  seat, 
and  tea  in  tiny  glasses  was  set  before  us.  We 
found  we  could  talk  most  easily  through  Asoufi 
with  the  Turkish  gentleman,  whom  we  found  to  be 
a  mirzah,  a  teacher,  acting  as  tutor  to  the  son  of 
the  house. 

A  beggar  with  a  long  grey  beard,  dressed  solely 
in  a  coarse  ragged  cloak,  came  up  and  garrulously 
demanded  alms.  He  reviled  the  mudir  for  a 
stingy  rascal,  much  to  that  gentleman's  amusement, 
and  when  our  servant  gave  him  some  paras  he 
compared  us  very  favourably,  unbelievers  as  we 
were,  with  our  Moslem  host.  Finally  he  became 
such  a  nuisance  that  two  zaptiehs  had  to  drag 
him  away. 

We  talked  of  the  location,  climate,  size,  impor- 
tance, and  wages  of  America  and  complimented 
our  host  on  the  cleanliness  of  his  village  and  the 
questionable  improvement  he  was  effecting  by 
paving  the  streets  with  cobblestones  from  the 
river  bed.  As  we  talked,  a  herd  of  lean,  mangy  cat- 
tle were  driven  by.  An  occasional  villager  passed 
on  foot  or  on  a  donkey,  raising  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  and  lowering  it  again  to  his  breast  with 
the  words,  "salaam  aleikom"  (pax  vobiscum). 


ioo  The  Gate  of  Asia 

After  half  an  hour  dinner  was  announced  and 
we  passed  through  the  court-yard  into  a  little 
vaulted  whitewashed  room  with  narrow  windows, 
where  we  took  our  places  upon  a  broad  divan. 
A  zaptieh  brought  a  jug  and  a  basin  and  poured 
water  on  our  right  hands.  Then  a  table  was 
brought  and  two  zaptiehs  entered  bearing  a  large 
tray  which  was  placed  on  the  table.  In  the  centre 
was  a  pilau — a  bowl  of  rice  topped  with  raisins 
and  the  remains  of  a  chicken.  Before  each  of  us 
was  a  plate  and  beside  it  a  spoon  and  a  large  flat 
cake  of  unleavened  bread  neatly  folded.  In  two 
of  the  plates  was  boiled  cabbage  and  in  the  others 
stewed  apricots.  Each  of  us  without  further 
ceremony  attacked  the  bowl  of  rice  with  his 
spoon,  ate  from  whatever  plate  happened  to  be 
before  him,  and  then  exchanged  it  with  his  neigh- 
bour whose  plate  contained  a  different  victual. 
There  was  a  bowl  of  yaourt,  milk  curdled  by  a 
process  much  used  throughout  the  Near  East, 
into  which  each  dipped  his  spoon.  A  large  bowl 
of  fresh  milk  was  supplied  with  a  wooden  dipper 
which  served  its  purpose  admirably. 

Dinner  was  over  when  each  diner  had  had 
his  fill,  and  then  the  remains  were  removed  and 
the  servants  did  justice  to  them.  Later  we  had  a 
few  minutes'  conversation,  invited  the  mudir  to 
visit  us  in  America,  and  walked  back  to  the  inn 
with  a  zaptieh  and  a  lantern  bearer. 

Another  day's  ride  along  the  same  valley 
brought  us  to  the  village  of  Taukh,  where  we 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  101 

succeeded  in  obtaining  sufficient  water  to  bathe. 
This  operation  we  performed  in  the  shelter  of  the 
stables,  with  the  assistance  of  a  bucket  and  a 
wash  basin,  before  the  amazed  glances  of  some 
natives,  who  were  amused,  if  not  edified,  at  so 
strange  a  misuse  of  water.  Then  followed  a  long 
day  at  the  end  of  which  we  reached  the  metropolis 
of  the  country  between  the  desert  and  the  high 
mountains,  the  Turkish  town  of  Kerkuk. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BY  CARAVAN  TO  KURDISTAN  AND  THE  UPPER 

TIGRIS  (Continued) 

WE  approached  Kerkuk  through  a  wilderness 
of  mounds,  mostly  of  a  roughly  conical 
shape,  marking  the  site  of  ancient  Assyrian  temples 
and  tombs.  The  city  itself  was  visible  from  a 
considerable  distance  because  it  is  largely  built 
upon  the  largest  mound  of  all.  To  reach  it  we 
had  to  thread  our  way  across  half-dry  water- 
courses amid  walled  gardens  and  extensive  grave- 
yards. We  found  the  city  most  unattractive. 
The  houses  are  stone-built  and  mostly  covered 
with  stucco,  and  the  walls  are  unprovided  with 
projecting  windows  such  as  relieve  the  blank 
walls  of  Bagdad.  The  mosques  are  few  and 
solidly  built,  the  minarets  heavy  and  undecorated. 
There  is  nowhere  any  of  the  grace  and  lightness 
that  comes  from  Persian  influence,  which  has 
made  itself  strongly  felt  in  Bagdad  and  has  been 
conveyed  thence  to  Mosul,  but  has  not  penetrated 
to  this  pre-eminently  Turkish  town. 

We  passed  through  a  desolate  narrow  street  and 
turned  into  a  wider  one  lined  with  coffee-houses 

102 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  103 

before  which  groups  of  men  in  various  costumes, 
especially  the  green  military  uniform,  sat  smoking 
and  drinking  coffee.  Thence  we  plunged  into  a 
short  covered  bazaar  that  runs  along  a  river  bed 
that  was  almost  dry  and  full  of  a  maze  of  boulders 
and  cobblestones.  In  the  crowd  that  filled  the 
street  and  jostled  us  indifferently  our  party 
became  separated  and  our  zaptieh  guide  bewildered. 
At  the  end  of  the  bazaar  we  brought  up  at  a  place 
where  rough-looking  Kurds,  with  great  turbans 
and  baggy  trousers,  rode  bony  nags  down  among 
the  boulders  of  the  river  and  loaded  them  with 
water-skins.  Here  we  paused  a  moment,  but 
then  turned  once  more  into  a  little  square,  en- 
cumbered with  high  benches  on  which  crowds 
of  men  were  squatting,  fully  half  of  them  in 
uniform.  Across  the  square  was  a  high,  pointed 
doorway,  a  Singer  sewing-machine  advertisement 
above  it,  and  a  coffee-house  on  either  side.  This 
we  entered,  finding  a  narrow  court-yard  within 
surrounded  by  stables. 

Steep  flights  of  narrow  steps  gave  access  to  a 
cloistered  gallery  that  ran  around  three  sides  of 
the  court  above  the  stables,  with  rooms  opening 
on  to  it.  In  one  of  these  we  hastily  deposited 
our  baggage  and  shut  the  door  in  the  face  of  the 
crowd  of  ragamuffins  that  had  followed  us  into  the 
court  and  stood  about  hooting  and  getting  in  our 
way  while  the  horses  were  being  off-saddled. 
Once  safe  behind  the  barred  door  we  took  a  hasty 
inventory  of  our  personal  effects  and  fortunately 


104  The  Gate  of  Asia 

found  them  intact.  Then  we  discussed  a  plan  of 
action,  for  in  such  a  den  of  thieves  we  hesitated 
to  leave  the  baggage  to  the  uncertain  care  of 
Asoufi,  and  the  zaptiehs,  as  usual,  had  left  us  at 
the  gate  of  the  inn.  The  matter  was  settled  by 
Edwin  Warfield  expressing  himself  ready  to  rest 
after  the  long  day  in  the  saddle.  So  I  sallied  forth 
alone  to  try  my  luck,  and  take  some  photographs 
of  Kerkuk. 

Here  I  must  ask  permission  to  digress  for  a 
moment  to  explain  what  manner  of  place  this  is. 
It  is  situated  in  the  extreme  southern  part  of  the 
Mosul  vilayet  (government)  and  is  the  only  town 
of  large  size  between  Mosul  and  Bagdad,  having 
a  population  of  about  20,000.  It  is  the  seat  of  a 
mutessarif,  an  official  next  in  rank  to  the  vali, 
and  the  headquarters  of  an  army  corps.  Although 
Mosul  is  its  provincial  capital  there  is  great  rivalry 
between  the  two  cities  for  the  capital  is  purely  an 
Arab  city.  Turks  and  Arabs  never  did  get  on  well 
together  and  Kerkuk  is  distinctly  Turkish,  although 
Kurdish  is  spoken  commonly  in  the  bazaars  and 
Arabic  is  generally  understood.  This  is  an  ex- 
cellent example  of  the  mingling  of  races  in  this 
unhappy  country.  Here  is  a  city  originally  Assy- 
rian, later  Persian  and  largely  Christian,  and 
finally  possessed  by  roving  Turkoman  tribesmen 
who  have  settled  within  its  walls,  dispossessed 
the  .former  inhabitants,  and  made  their  language 
the  language  of  its  commerce.  They  speak  a 
pure  Turanian  tongue  absolutely  different  from 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  105 

the  Semitic  Arabic  and  Aryan  Kurdish,  both  of 
which  almost  every  Kerkukli  must  understand  in 
order  to  do  his  daily  marketing.  The  average 
American  speaks  only  English ;  German  and  French 
are  unusual  accomplishments.  On  the  continent 
well-educated  people  generally  speak  two  languages 
beside  their  own,  but  they  all  belong  to  the  Aryan 
group  and  are  closely  allied  verbally  and  grammati- 
cally. But  here  in  Kerkuk  three  languages  are 
necessary,  no  two  of  which  have  anything  in 
common  either  in  their  syntax  or  method  of 
pronunciation. 

The  reason  for  this  is  that  this  city  is  on  the 
border  between  the  Arabs  and  the  Kurds.  To  the 
south  and  west  are  nomad  Arabs  belonging  to 
the  powerful  and  notorious  Shammar  tribes,  that 
have  controlled  the  Jezireh, — i.e., the  land  between 
the  Tigris  and  Euphrates,  north  of  Bagdad  and 
south  of  the  mountains, — since  the  days  of  the 
Kalifate.  Dangerous  as  these  tribes  are  they 
have  had  to  bow  to  the  still  more  accomplished 
rogues  living  to  the  east,  the  Hamavand  Kurds. 
Up  to  about  a  year  before  our  arrival  these  bandits 
had  almost  isolated  the  city,  making  the  roads 
impassable  except  to  strongly  armed  parties. 
Such  a  condition  they  have  brought  to  pass  at 
intervals  whenever  the  power  of  the  Hukumet, 
the  Ottoman  Government,  has  become  slack. 
Each  time  they  have  kept  on  robbing  until  things 
got  so  bad  that  they  could  no  longer  bribe  the 
officials  with  their  plunder.  Then  powerful  bodies 


io6  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  troops  have  been  sent  against  them  and  they 
have  had  to  retire  to  the  mountains  or,  on  one 
or  two  occasions,  decamp  into  Persian  territory. 
Those  we  saw  were  slender,  rather  short  men, 
with  small  hands  and  clean-cut  features,  differing 
in  that  respect  from  the  northern  Kurds,  who  are 
usually  very  heavy  featured,  so  much  so  as  to 
appear  quite  coarse.  They  were  picturesquely 
dressed  in  their  peculiar  tribal  costume,  a  long  white 
tunic  reaching  to  the  ankle,  zouave  jacket  heavily 
embroidered  with  gold,  fitted  with  very  narrow 
sleeves  from  which  the  sleeves  of  the  tunic  extend 
to  the  ground,  like  those  of  an  Anglican  prelate; 
on  their  heads  they  wear  turbans  of  many  coloured 
kerchiefs  and  on  their  feet  red  leather  slippers 
with  toes  turned  up  like  those  of  a  mediaeval 
gallant. 

They  were  perfectly  quiet  when  we  came 
through,  but  not  averse  to  robbing  an  unprotected 
caravan  here  and  there,  as  we  were  frequently  told 
of  their  doing.  They  are  often  to  be  seen  in  the 
city  armed  with  government  rifles  taken  from  the 
troops  during  their  recent  activity  between  1908 
and  1912.  On  several  occasions  they  cut  up  small 
parties  sent  against  them  and  captured  others,  a 
small  party  occasionally  ambuscading  as  many 
as  two  hundred  well-armed  soldiers.  On  one  oc- 
casion they  actually  ambushed  a  body  of  over  a 
hundred,  took  away  their  rifles,  stripped  them  to 
the  skin,  and  drove  them  like  cattle  back  to  their 
barracks  in  Kerkuk. 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  107 

But  the  city,  being  Turkish,  is  in  close  sympathy 
with  Constantinople.  It  is  therefore  a  favourite 
recruiting  ground  for  army  officers  and  petty 
officials.  The  more  prominent  families  in  the  city 
depend  entirely  on  official  billets  for  a  livelihood. 
Now  there  are  in  Turkey  many  more  army  officers 
than  can  be  kept  in  active  service,  for  a  large 
part  of  the  Ottoman  army  exists  only  on  paper. 
Moreover  there  are  scores  of  minor  officials  whose 
posts  either  do  not  exist  or  are  in  some  remote 
part  of  the  Empire  where  it  would  be  as  much  as 
a  Turk's  life  was  worth  to  show  his  face.  The 
members  of  both  these  classes  of  officers  without 
an  office  reside  in  their  native  places,  drawing  a 
salary  if  they  have  influence  enough  in  high  places 
to  get  it  paid,  but  generally  living  on  their  relatives 
and  neighbours.  Half-educated  in  the  government 
schools,  they  are  vicious  to  a  degree  and  merciless 
oppressors  of  such  friendless  people  as  Christian 
shopkeepers.  Of  them  Kerkuk  has  a  plethora  and 
hence  the  conspicuous  number  of  uniforms  in  the 
coffee-houses  everywhere. 

It  was  into  such  a  place  that  I  set  out,  leaving 
Edwin  Warfield  to  his  book  and  the  company  of 
the  agent  for  Singer's  sewing-machines.  I  had 
noticed  that  the  square  before  the  door  offered 
some  excellent  opportunities  for  photography, 
so  I  walked  hastily  into  it  to  do  my  kodaking 
before  a  crowd  should  collect  and  make  it  im- 
possible. At  a  suitable  distance  I  faced  about 
and  snapped  the  inn  door.  Then  turning  to  the 


io8  The  Gate  of  Asia 

left  I  diagnosed  the  possibilities  of  a  covered 
bazaar  entrance  and  a  fairly  large  building  with  a 
balcony  inset  in  the  second  storey,  where  stood  a 
group  of  zaptiehs.  This  too  I  photographed,  and 
then  set  off  hastily,  past  the  group  in  front  of  the 
coffee-house  into  a  street  leading  toward  the 
river  bed  where  I  anticipated  some  interesting 
views.  As  I  rounded  a  corner  and  entered  the 
bazaar  we  had  traversed  earlier  in  the  day,  I  was 
overtaken  from  behind  by  two  zaptiehs,  who 
came  up  at  a  dead  run  and  motioned  me  to  retrace 
my  steps.  A  large  and  angry-looking  crowd 
followed  at  their  heels  and  quickly  barred  my 
progress  in  any  other  direction,  so  perforce  I 
followed  them. 

They  led  me  to  the  building  with  the  inset  bal- 
cony which  I  now  realized  was  the  police  head- 
quarters. A  flight  of  stairs  led  to  the  balcony, 
which  we  crossed,  entering  a  small  room  with 
barred  windows  overlooking  the  square.  Its 
furniture  consisted  of  two  beds  and  a  telephone. 
A  zaptieh  of  some  presence,  evidently  a  sergeant, 
was  using  the  latter  and  I  was  asked  to  be  seated 
on  one  of  the  former.  Several  men  crowded  in 
and  more  stood  in  the  doorway.  Through  the 
barred  windows  I  could  see  that  the  street  was 
packed  with  people. 

An  officer  in  the  green  infantry  uniform  entered 
and  spoke  to  the  zaptieh.  Then  turning  to  me 
he  addressed  me  in  execrable  French  asking  why 
I  took  the  photographs.  I  explained  that  it 


Entrance  to  a  Bazaar  in  Kirkuk.     The  Police  Headquarters, 
where  the  Author  was  Held  as  a  Spy  is  on  the  Left 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  109 

was  out  of  curiosity  and 'that  I  wished  to  take  them 
back  to  America  as  souvenirs.  He  asked  if  I 
were  not  English.  No,  I  was  American.  What 
was  my  name  and  city?  Would  I  write  them — 
in  French?  I  took  his  split  reed  pen  and  a  piece 
of  paper  and  wrote  as  he  directed.  Then  he  began 
to  speak  about  a  letter,  and  I  realized  he  meant 
the  letter  from  the  Vali  of  Bagdad  authorizing 
our  progress  to  Mosul.  It  was  in  my  coat  which 
I  had  left  at  the  inn. 

At  this  juncture  Asoufi  appeared  and  I  sent 
him  for  the  letter.  Then  all  the  queries  were 
repeated  and  my  answers  repeated  to  the  zaptieh, 
who  shouted  them  fiercely  into  the  telephone. 
Especial  attention  was  given  to  the  question  of  my 
nationality,  and  it  was  constantly  suggested  that 
I  was  a  military  officer.  These  facts  showed 
plainly  that  I  was  suspected  of  being  a  British 
spy,  and  the  object  of  my  questioner  was  to  prove 
that  I  was  English  and  that  I  took  photographs 
of  such  strategic  points  as  city  police  headquarters 
for  transmission  to  my  government.  Soon  Asoufi 
returned  with  the  letter  and  it  was  deciphered 
with  difficulty,  the  zaptieh  reading  more  readily 
than  the  officer  and  both  referring  to  a  bystander 
for  assistance  over  difficult  places.  The  letter 
was  read  haltingly  over  the  telephone.  I  was 
then  questioned  as  to  my  comrade  who  was  men- 
tioned in  the  letter.  Was  that  my  comrade 
(indicating  Asoufi)?  No,  that  was  my  chef,  my 
domestique.  Where  was  my  comrade?  And  I 


1 10  The  Gate  of  Asia 

explained  that  I  had  left  that  gentleman  at  the 
inn. 

Then  they  questioned  Asoufi.  Whence  came 
he  ?  What  was  his  religion  ?  Where  born  ?  What 
was  his  relation  to  us?  Did  he  speak  French? 
Then  what  language  did  he  speak  to  us  ?  English ! 
Then  they  are  English!  "Vous  etes  Anglais, 
Monsieur!"  He  thought  he  had  me  there  and  it 
was  some  time  before  he  would  be  convinced  that 
English  was  the  native  language  of  America. 

This  question  settled  there  was  more  telephon- 
ing and  more  reading  of  the  letter.  Then  I  was 
told  to  wait  fifteen  minutes,  that  the  Pasha  (the 
general)  wished  to  see  me.  I  saw  that  the  prosecu- 
tion was  weakening  and  decided  it  was  time  to 
make  a  strong  stand  for  my  rights  under  the  cap- 
itulations. "No,"  I  said,  "it  is  not  convenient." 

This  was  repeated  to  the  telephone  and  I  was 
asked  to  wait  five  minutes.  But  no,  I  knew  that 
an  Oriental  five  minutes  often  stretches  into 
hours,  and  I  would  not  miss  my  dinner  for  any 
Pasha  in  command  of  the  Sultan's  forces  in 
Kerkuk.  So  I  insisted  it  was  not  convenient 
and  I  would  not  wait.  After  more  telephoning 
the  officer  grew  sulky  and  had  nothing  to  say. 
Asoufi  told  me  it  was  settled  and  I  could  go. 
But  I  was  not  ready  to  leave  just  then  and  per- 
sisted in  demanding  official  permission  to  take 
photographs.  This  I  finally  wrung  from  the 
mptieh.  Then  I  threaded  my  way  through  the 
throng  in  the  square  to  the  inn.  There  I  found 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  in 

Edwin  Warfield  in  some  excitement  for  he  had 
seen  the  mob  gather  and  learned  from  the  badly 
frightened  Asoufi  that  I  was  the  centre  of  interest. 

Kerkuk  officialdom  did,  however,  do  us  one 
kindness;  that  was,  to  send  a  policeman  to  the 
inn  as  a  bodyguard.  He  cleared  the  curious 
from  the  inn-yard  and  stopped  a  lot  of  ragged 
boys  from  throwing  mud  in  at  the  window  of  our 
gloomy  little  lime-washed  room.  Without  his 
presence  we  should  not  again  have  been  able 
to  sally  forth  into  the  streets  so  great  was  the 
notoriety  I  had  secured. 

The  principal  mosque  of  the  city  contains  the 
tombs  of  Shadrach  and  Abednego,  while  Meshach 
also  is  said  to  be  buried  here,  though  the  place 
of  his  interment  has  been  forgotten.  Without 
the  city  are  the  tombs  of  many  Moslem  saints. 
One  of  the  most  recent  of  them  is  that  of  Sheikh 
Kadr,  an  intimate  of  Sheikh  Seyyid,  whom  I  shall 
mention  later.  These  two  Kurdish  doctors  of 
Islam  were  confidants  of  the  Sultan  Abdul- Hamid, 
and  that  gentleman  was  accustomed  to  communi- 
cate with  them  in  a  private  cipher  and  ask  for 
their  prayers  whenever  he  had  any  particularly 
black  plans.  Sheikh  Kadr's  chief  title  to  recog- 
nition as  a  holy  man  is  derived  from  a  brutal  mas- 
sacre of  Christians  which  he  instigated  and  led 
in  this  neighbourhood. 

There  is  rather  a  large  settlement  of  this  religion 
in  the  city  and  surrounding  towns.  One  of  them 
hailed  Asoufi  as  a  cousin  and  after  much  kissing 


H2  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  cheeks  made  an  appointment  with  him  for  the 
evening.  Most  of  these  people  wear  semi-Euro- 
pean dress  and  the  fez,  though  there  still  remain  a 
few  who  wear  the  Arab  costume  with  a  honey- 
coloured  tunic,  that  shade  having  been  forced 
on  all  Christians  by  the  kalifs  of  Bagdad  in  the 
eighth  century.  They  are  of  the  Chaldaean  com- 
munion and  have  a  church  supplied  by  a  priest  from 
Mosul.  There  is  also  in  Kerkuk  a  strong  colony 
of  Jews  who  claim  to  be  the  children  of  the  captivity 
of  Nebuchadnezzar.  They  have  certainly  been 
here  for  a  very  long  time  for  they  speak  Hebrew, 
which  had  practically  disappeared  in  Palestine 
in  the  time  of  Christ. 

Our  muleteers  found  some  close  friends  in  the 
bazaar,  for  being  consummate  rascals  themselves 
they  had  much  in  common  with  the  larger  part  of 
the  population  of  the  city.  With  these  congenial 
beings  they  wished  to  spend  another  day — at 
our  expense.  Consequently  they  did  not  saddle 
up  in  the  morning  and  Asoufi  brought  us  word 
from  them  that,  as  it  was  the  Sabbath  day  and 
we  were  Christians,  we  would  doubtless  wish 
to  remain  in  Kerkuk;  would  we  therefore  kindly 
advance  money  for  the  barley  to  feed  the  horses? 
Immediately  we  summoned  them  to  our  presence 
and  gave  them  to  understand  that  we  were  not  to 
be  trifled  with.  Seeing  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  on  they  yielded  and  got  the  horses 
ready.  Such  experiences  are  common  with  Turk- 
ish muleteers  and  it  should  always  be  definitely 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  113 

stated  in  the  contract  that  a  certain  sum  is  to  be 
forfeited  by  them  for  every  day's  delay  beyond  a 
stated  time. 

We  got  under  way  in  due  course  and  set  off 
across  the  bridge.  Just  beyond  it  are  the  great 
ugly  barracks  where  the  wretched  troops  are 
quartered,  with  a  parade  ground  in  front,  innocent 
of  a  blade  of  green.  Behind  a  partly  ruined  wall  a 
group  of  men  were  practising  on  trumpets,  led 
by  a  veteran  who  could  not  do  much  better  than 
they.  This  is  the  commonest  experience  about  a 
military  post  in  Turkey;  someone  is  always  play- 
ing on  a  bugle,  producing  the  most  awful  discords 
imaginable.  We  were  glad  enough  to  get  out  of 
hearing  of  these  particular  tyros  and  continued 
through  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  amid  picturesque 
fruit  groves  and  whitewashed  tombs,  almost  every 
one  of  which  had  a  stork's  nest  perched  on  its 
slab-sided  dome.  So  we  passed  out  of  the  city, 
threading  our  way  down  the  side  of  the  old 
mound  that  covers  the  Assyrian  city,  past  some 
stagnant  pools  where  stock  are  watered,  and  so 
entered  the  unirrigated  country,  glad  enough  to 
shake  the  dust  of  Kerkuk  from  our  feet. 

All  day  we  rode  over  a  series  of  parallel  moun- 
tain spurs,  each  exactly  the  same  height  and 
shape  as  its  neighbours,  and  all  separated  by 
exactly  identical  trough-like  valleys.  It  was 
monotonous  to  say  the  least  but  interesting 
because  it  throws  light  on  a  curious  convention 
used  in  the  Assyrian  sculptures,  where  mountains 

8 


1 14  The  Gate  of  Asia 

are  represented  by  figures  that  resemble  ripple 
marks  on  sand.  This  convention  was  undoubtedly 
inspired  by  these  rolling  hills  which  were  in  the 
heart  of  Assyria.  It  was  appropriate  enough  in 
this  land  but  applied  to  the  mountains  of  Armenia 
and  Palestine  it  is  curiously  inappropriate;  but 
the  Assyrian  artist  knew  of  only  one  way  of 
depicting  highlands. 

Occasionally  the  prospect  was  broken  by  the 
appearance  of  little  groups  of  nomad  Kurds,  with 
flocks  pasturing  around  their  black  tents.  The 
shepherd  boys  were  always  picturesque  in  great 
square  cloaks  of  felt,  the  upper  corners  sticking 
out  from  the  boys'  shoulders.  Each  is  always 
provided  with  a  crook  and  often  a  gun  also,  for 
the  David  of  these  hills  smites  his  Goliath  with  a 
Martini  bullet,  not  with  a  pebble  from  the  brook. 

Of  birds  we  saw  a  few,  especially  pigeons.  These 
we  shot  almost  every  day  as  a  variation  from  our 
otherwise  uninteresting  menu  of  eggs  and  tough 
fowls.  Occasionally  a  few  ducks  and  geese  were 
encountered  in  a  swampy  place  and  offered  a 
chance  shot.  In  the  desert  and  plowed  land 
were  sand  grouse  of  a  variety  considerably  larger 
than  those  common  in  India,  and  also  the  little 
bustard,  though  we  did  not  see  its  larger  brother 
very  much  until  we  got  north  of  Mosul.  There 
were  great  numbers  of  tall  grey  cranes  generally 
in  pairs  or  small  groups.  They  were  very  wary 
and  we  never  succeeded  in  bagging  any.  On 
a  previous  day  we  saw  huge  flocks  flying  over  our 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  115 

heads,  so  that  the  sky  was  dark  with  them  and  the 
air  filled  with  their  harsh  cries. 

After  crossing  interminable  numbers  of  those 
hopelessly  uninteresting  ridges  we  came  out  on  the 
last  one  and  overlooked  the  valley  of  the  Lesser 
Zab,  a  considerable  river  that  rises  on  the  Turko- 
Persian  frontier  and  after  defiling  through  the 
hills  flows  due  south-west  into  the  Tigris. 

Our  road  soon  brought  us  down  to  its  bank  at 
the  town  of  Altun  Keupri,  a  name  that  means 
Golden  Bridge.  The  erection  that  gives  the 
town  this  name  is  a  bridge  only  by  courtesy,  and 
is  characteristic  of  Turkish  efforts  in  this  depart- 
ment of  architecture,  contrasting  strikingly  with 
the  bridges  of  Persian  workmanship  farther  south. 
It  is  simply  a  very  much  attenuated  pointed  arch, 
spanning  the  narrow,  rocky  bed  of  the  Zab. 
There  is  no  roadway  at  all,  and  he  who  would  cross 
must  climb  up  the  slippery  stones  of  which  the 
arch  is  built.  The  loaded  caravan  animals  had 
to  be  pushed  and  boosted  to  the  summit,  whence 
they  slid  down  the  other  side,  just  like  sliding 
down  a  railway  embankment.  Insult  is  added 
to  injury  by  the  collector  of  tolls,  who  demands 
from  the  traveller  a  sum  in  silver  for  the  privilege 
of  risking  his  life  and  substance  upon  the  dangerous 
gable  of  this  Bridge  of  Gold. 

Having  successfully  negotiated  this  difficult 
hazard  we  entered  the  town,  passed  some  crowded 
coffee-houses,  and  traversed  the  length  of  a  narrow 
bazaar.  This  soon  brought  us  to  the  edge  of 


u6  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  town  where  we  found  an  almost  deserted  inn 
of  which  we  took  possession.  The  court  was 
covered  with  cobblestones,  but  on  the  sagging 
roof  of  one  side  of  the  quadrangle  was  a  second- 
storey  room  reached  by  a  tumble-down  flight  of 
steps  from  the  court.  In  this  we  established 
ourselves,  finding  it  not  unpicturesque.  Below 
us  was  the  town  with  a  tumble-down  mosque,  and 
the  vaulted  roof  of  the  bazaar  rising  above  the 
flat  roofs  of  the  houses.  On  the  other  side  was 
a  wilderness  of  groves  presided  over  by  the  domed 
tomb  of  a  sheikh,  and  farther  still  nought  but 
grassless  downs. 

Altun  Keupri  is  another  Turkish  town,  though 
there  are  many  Arabs  in  it,  and  the  navigation  of 
the  river,  which  is  entirely  by  skin  rafts,  or  keleks, 
is  in  their  hands.  It  is  the  seat  of  a  mudir  (mayor) 
and  we  were  favoured  by  a  call  from  that  dignitary. 
He  was  a  short  stout  Turk,  a  native  of  the  country, 
and  wore  European  dress  and  the  fez,  as  became 
his  rank.  He  was  followed  by  several  officials 
and  a  couple  of  zaptiehs.  He  was  much  interested 
in  our  firearms,  especially  my  automatic  pistol, 
which  he  examined  with  a  childish  nonchalance 
and  lofty  indifference  to  probable  consequences 
that  was  almost  startling  to  the  two  Anglo- 
Saxons  present;  though  the  Orientals  seemed  to 
accept  it  as  the  natural  way  to  treat  such  an  instru- 
ment. He  told  me  he  had  a  very  fine  Martini 
rifle  and  would  swap  it  for  the  pistol  with  anything 
else  I  cared  to  ask  for.  Now  a  Martini  is  a  very 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  117 

primitive  type  of  breech-loader,  firing  only  one  shot 
and  that  of  great  size ;  so  simple  is  the  mechanism 
that  it  is  very  commonly  copied  by  local  gun- 
smiths. Such  a  rifle  in  the  hands  of  a  petty  of- 
ficial is  apt  to  be  worn,  rusty,  and  worm-eaten,  not 
unlike  the  one  Kipling  warns  his  young  British  sol- 
dier not  to  call  a  "cross-eyed  old  bitch."  There- 
fore I  declined  the  mudirs  kind  offer  with  thanks. 
He  continued  to  bargain  and  finally  bade  me  name 
my  price,  even  to  the  half  of  his  kingdom.  But  an 
automatic  pistol  is  not  a  thing  to  allow  one's  self 
to  be  lightly  clear  of  in  such  a  land  as  this,  where 
it  is  not  unlikely  to  prove  an  invaluable  asset. 
So  I  had  to  disappoint  the  old  mudir,  much  as 
I  would  have  liked  to  present  him  the  gun  as  a 
memento  of  our  visit. 

The  next  day  we  marched  up  a  wide,  once  fertile 
valley,  the  ancient  land  of  Adiabene.  Frequent 
views  of  snow-clad  mountains  to  the  north  showed 
us  how  near  we  were  to  the  "Turkish  Switzerland, " 
Hakkiari,  the  home  of  the  Kurds.  In  the  valley 
villages  are  few,  for  the  hot  summer  sun  parches 
every  green  thing  and  compels  the  population  to 
seek  the  mountain  pastures  at  that  season.  That 
this  was  not  always  the  case  is  proved  by  frequent 
mounds,  often  of  great  mass,  strewn  with  pot- 
sherds and  broken  bricks.  The  ruins  of  ancient 
irrigating  works  are  also  to  be  traced  almost 
everywhere. 

Up  this  ancient  valley  we  marched  toward 
its  capital,  Arbela,  now  called  by  its  inhabitants 


n8  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Erbil.  From  a  great  distance  we  saw  it,  rising 
above  the  level  of  the  valley,  showing  clearly  in 
the  light  of  the  afternoon  against  the  black  moun- 
tain that  walls  the  valley,  above  which  was  just 
the  suggestion  of  snow-covered  peaks.  A  long, 
long  time  we  marched  toward  it  without  seeming 
to  get  much  nearer.  For  it  is  one  of  those  places, 
familiar  to  the  traveller  by  caravan,  which  may 
be  seen  when  it  is  little  larger  than  a  man's  hand, 
yet  seems  almost  in  reach  in  the  clear  air.  The 
cicy  loomed  up  above  the  valley  level,  an  effect 
that  was  heightened  by  a  slight  mirage,  but  we 
discovered  when  we  approached  that  it  is  really 
set  in  a  hollow,  and  owes  its  prominent  appearance 
to  a  tremendous  mound,  upon  which  it  is  built. 

This  mound  contains  the  ruins  of  an  Assyrian 
city  and  the  vast  temples  of  the  goddess  Ishtar 
of  Arbela.  She  was  probably  the  goddess  that 
Asshur  took  with  him  when  he  "went  forth  and 
builded  Nineveh"  (Gen.  x.,  xi.),  for  she  became 
the  tutelary  deity  of  Assyria,  and  her  city  of 
Arbela  the  religious  capital  of  that  empire.  So 
widely  respected  was  she  that  we  hear  of  her 
making  a  journey  in  the  fifteenth  century  B.C. 
to  Pharaoh,  King  of  Egypt,  and  spending  some 
time  in  that  land  which  she  loved.  The  city 
must  be  about  four  thousand  years  old  and  has 
been  continually  inhabited  all  that  time,  the 
sacred  city  of  many  peoples,  tributary  to  succeed- 
ing empires,  Assyrian,  Mede,  Persian,  Greek, 
Parthian,  Roman,  Armenian,  Sassanid,  and  Ara- 


o 

u 
H 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  119 

bian.  Today  an  Ottoman  garrison  is  quartered 
on  the  great  mound  beneath  which  lie,  untouched, 
the  ruined  shrines  of  Ishtar. 

The  top  of  the  mound  is  covered  with  brick 
buildings  that  crowd  to  the  very  edge  from  which 
a  few  seem  to  have  been  shouldered.  These 
unfavoured  ones  are  grouped  at  the  foot  of  the 
zigzag  ascent  that  rises  to  those  above.  They 
seem  to  be  guarding  the  water-supply  which,  as 
usual  in  this  region,  is  but  a  dirty  pool  used  in- 
differently for  washing  and  drinking.  Beside  it 
we  found  a  new  inn,  with  a  second  storey  around 
all  four  sides  of  the  court.  The  rooms  were  clean 
and  whitewashed  and  had  each  a  barred  window. 
Many  of  them  were  occupied  by  officers  and 
officials.  In  one  of  them  we  made  ourselves 
comfortable  while  a  crowd  of  picturesque  Arab 
merchants  wrangled  in  the  court  below  over  loads 
of  cotton  goods  and  dates,  which  they  were  selling 
to  Kurdish  peddlers  for  their  mountain-grown 
tobacco. 

The  people  of  the  city  are  largely  mixed  but 
more  than  half  are  Baban  Kurds  whose  dialect — 
quite  different  from  that  of  the  northern  Hakkiari 
tribes — has  become  the  language  of  the  city. 
Being  an  important  garrison  town  it  boasts  of 
many  uniforms  and  a  large  officialdom,  mostly 
Turks.  But  most  of  the  troops  we  learned  were 
Arabs,  and  had  officers  of  their  own  race.  There 
doubtless  are  descendants  of  the  Assyrians  but 
they  have  so  far  changed  their  dress  and  language 


120  The  Gate  of  Asia 

as  to  be  unnoticeable.  I  was  unable  to  learn 
anything  of  the  local  Christians,  who  are  most 
likely  to  belong  to  that  race,  and  may  have  tradi- 
tions that  would  throw  light  on  the  subject. 

No  sooner  had  we  made  ourselves  comfortable 
at  the  inn  than  an  infantry  officer  entered  and 
addressed  us  in  excellent  German.  I  had  a  long 
conversation  with  him  in  that  language,  which 
he  said  he  had  learned  at  the  war  college  at 
Constantinople  where  a  group  of  German  instruc- 
tors are  seeking  to  remould  the  Ottoman  army 
according  to  Prussian  standards.  As  we  talked 
I  translated  what  he  said  to  Edwin  Warfield. 

"What  language  do  you  speak  to  him?"  asked 
the  officer. 

"English,  "said  I. 

"But,"  accusingly,  "you  said  you  were  Ameri- 
can." 

"Everyone  speaks  English  in  America." 

' '  What !     Is  there  no  American  language  ? ' ' 

He  said  that  the  people  of  this  country  of  Irak 
know  what  they  are  doing.  They  do  not  love 
the  Turks  and  are  glad  they  were  beaten  in  the 
Balkan  war.  They  laugh  at  them. 

"I  should  not  speak  so,  for  I  am  an  officer,  but 
I  am  an  Arab  of  Bagdad,  and  we  people  of  Irak 
have  our  plans  well  forward.  If  you  were  Eng- 
lish I  would  not  speak  so  freely,  but  America 
is  very  far  away,  farther  than  Yemen,  is  it 
not?  I  have  been  there  to  the  war.  It  is  many 
days'  journey  on  the  sea."  (Yemen  is  one  of 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  121 

the  Red  Sea  provinces,  the  seat  of  a  recent  Arab 
revolt.) 

"No,  we  do  not  fear  the  Russians  or  the  English 
or  the  Turks!  We  will  not  fight  against  the 
Bulgarians.  Let  the  Turks  defend  Constantinople. 
But  if  the  Russians  come  from  the  Black  •  Sea, 
or  the  English  from  the  Persian  Gulf,  we  will  fight, 
for  we  are  the  people  of  Irak  and  we  do  not  love 
the  Turks." 

This  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  attitude  of 
the  people  of  Asiatic  Turkey.  The  Semitic 
Arabs  and  Aryan  Kurds  and  Armenians  cordially 
hate  their  conquerors,  the  Turanian  Turks. 

He  was  much  interested  in  the  map  of  eastern 
Asiatic  Turkey  recently  published  by  the  Royal 
Geographical  Society,  and  became  absorbed  in 
spelling  out  familiar  names  upon  it.  He  wished 
me  to  point  out  Yemen  but  the  map  does  not 
extend  so  far  south  as  to  include  it,  a  fact  that 
convinced  him  still  more  of  its  great  distance, 
comparable  to  that  of  America.  Reckoning  dis- 
tances by  the  time  it  takes  to  cover  them,  as 
Orientals  usually  do,  he  was  right.  In  fact  we 
were  then  more  remote  from  Constantinople  than 
America  is;  for  by  the  fastest  travelling  the 
capital  might  be  reached  from  Erbil  in  three 
weeks,  but  the  distance  from  Constantinople  to 
New  York  can  easily  be  covered  in  half  that  time. 

The  event  in  history  most  closely  connected 
with  Arbela  is  the  great  battle  in  which  Alexander 
the  Great  defeated  Darius,  the  last  of  the  Achae- 


122  The  Gate  of  Asia 

menian  kings  of  the  vast  Persian  empire  founded 
by  the  great  Cyrus.  But  the  battle  itself  was 
not  fought  before  Arbela,  or  even  in  sight  of 
it,  but  in  the  plain  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  which  today  we  call  the  Great  Zab.  The 
Macedonian  had  already  possessed  himself  of  the 
coasts  of  the  Mediterranean,  having  defeated 
Darius  at  Issus,  in  Asia  Minor.  Although  the 
Persians  were  rulers  of  all  that  vast  territory,  their 
real  home  was  in  the  mountainous  country  which 
we  now  call  by  their  name,  and  the  empire  of  the 
sons  of  Hystaspes,  father  of  Cyrus,  had  been 
extended  to  the  borders  of  Thibet,  and  included 
much  of  what  is  now  known  as  Hindustan.  From 
these  lands  Darius  collected  an  army  of  great 
size.  There  were  wild  horsemen  from  the  deserts 
of  Khorassan,  Afghans  and  their  neighbours  in 
northern  India  and  Beluchistan,  Scythians,  Par- 
thians,  Hyrcanians,  and  fierce  mountaineers  from 
the  Caucasus, — all  these  and  more,  besides  the 
picked  troops  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  and  of 
Babylon  and  Syria  that  formed  the  backbone  of 
the  vast  host. 

It  was  in  one  of  those  periods  in  which  meteoro- 
logical conditions  conspire  to  produce  an  extremely 
rainy  climate,  when  these  valleys  were  as  well 
supplied  with  meteoric  waters  as  are  the  rich 
grain  lands  of  our  Middle  West  today.  It  was 
one  of  those  periods  of  climatic  variation  in  which 
the  pendulum  had  swung  toward  the  maximum 
on  the  rainy  side.  These  lands  of  Adiabene, 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  123 

Mesopotamia,  Irak,  Persia,  Afghanistan,  and 
Sind,  which  are  now  practically  desert,  were  rich 
garden  spots,  supporting  enormous  populations. 
Had  this  not  been  the  case,  the  army  of  Darius 
could  never  have  been  brought  together.  Histori- 
ans of  the  time,  such  as  Arrian  and  Diodorus, 
assert  that  it  was  composed  of  over  a  million  men. 
Later  Justin  names  half  that  number.  But  even 
if  we  allow  that  the  earlier  historians  were  Greeks, 
and  wished  to  make  Alexander's  enemy  seem 
as  formidable  as  possible,  and  if  we  reduce  their 
estimates  to  one  half  or  one  fourth  or  even  one 
fifth  of  a  million,  still  we  have  an  army  many 
times  as  vast  as  could  be  supported  in  this  country 
today,  even  if  irrigation  were  developed  to  the 
limit.  There  is  positively  not  enough  water 
available  in  this  valley  to  irrigate  a  quarter  of 
the  arable  land;  and  an  army  of  ten  thousand, 
essaying  to  pass  through  it  and  remain  in  it,  as 
Darius  did,  would  certainly  starve. 

Added  to  this  great  number  of  men  Darius  had 
tens  of  thousands  of  horses,  for  most  of  his  levies 
from  northern  Persia  were  horse-bowmen;  and 
he  had  large  bodies  of  picked  heavy  cavalry  from 
among  his  own  people.  There  were  some  elephants 
too,  fifteen  in  number,  and  this  is  the  first  recorded 
use  of  these  animals  in  war.  Their  presence  is 
interesting,  not  so  much  for  the  fact  that  they 
had  to  be  fed  large  quantities  of  good  forage  while 
at  Arbela,  but  for  the  even  more  significant 
fact  that  they  came  from  this  side  of  the  Indus, 


124  The  Gate  of  Asia 

i.e.,  from  the  desert  of  Sind,  where  today  even 
the  cattle  are  puny  for  lack  of  green  fodder. 
The  huge,  unwieldy  beasts  had  to  be  brought 
either  through  Afghanistan  and  marched  across 
the  burning  salt  desert  of  central  Persia,  where 
today  the  wells  are  separated  by  great  distances 
and  where  the  roads  are  practicable  only  for  camels, 
or  else  along  the  coast  of  Beluchistan  and  the 
Persian  Gulf,  a  route  traversed  by  Alexander 
himself  on  his  return  from  India.  This  track 
has  been  followed  by  but  one  European  traveller, 
and  he  found  that,  so  far  apart  were  the  wells, 
and  so  foul  and  brackish,  he  could  get  along  only 
by  sending  caravans  ahead  to  deposit  supplies  of 
fodder  and  water  and  then  return,  after  which  he 
himself  made  a  dash  with  a  light,  fast  camel  cara- 
van, gathering  up  and  using  the  caches  as  he  went. 
Over  one  of  these  two  routes,  utterly  impossible 
today  these  elephants  had  to  be  brought  and, 
once  in  Persia,  they  had  to  be  maintained  at  some 
base  camp,  doubtless  near  the  capital  city  of 
Susa,  whose  ruins  lie  today  in  the  desert  valley 
of  the  Pasitigris,  without  so  much  as  a  clump  of 
withered  camel-thorn  to  relieve  their  barrenness. 

These  facts,  and  those  brought  out  over  and 
over  by  the  accounts  of  similar  campaigns  in  this 
country,  provide  one  of  the  most  striking  proofs 
of  the  tremendous  variations  which  have  taken 
place  in  the  climate  of  the  whole  northern  hemi- 
sphere in  historic  times.  It  is  especially  striking 
because  we  are  now  at  the  opposite  extreme  and 


O 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  125 

are  suffering  from  an  extremely  dry  period,  while 
conditions  in  the  southern  hemisphere  are  of 
course  the  exact  opposite.  This  fact  is  quite 
worthy  of  attention  and  of  close  study,  for  climatic 
variations  are  among  the  greatest  factors  in 
history,  and  have  been  the  primary  causes  of  all 
the  great  human  movements. 

In  the  fatal  month  of  September,  331  B.C., 
a  host  awaited  the  Macedonian  in  the  plain  that 
lies  beyond  the  Great  Zab,  more  than  a  day's 
journey  to  the  west  of  Arbela.  There  a  river, 
which  runs  into  the  Zab,  and  which  is  known 
today  as  the  Ghazir  Su,  served  to  protect  the 
Persian  flank.  Alexander  had  made  forced 
marches  from  Syria,  across  the  Euphrates,  and 
had  reached  the  Tigris  considerably  farther  north. 
So  he  was  marching  southward  when  he  en- 
countered his  enemy,  by  the  road  that  leads  to 
Babylon. 

On  that  day  East  was  ranged  against  West 
on  the  very  threshold  of  Asia.  Alexander's 
army  with  its  splendid  Macedonian  phalanxes 
and  its  squadrons  of  irresistible  Thessalian  cavalry 
was  entirely  European,  while  that  of  Darius  was 
Asiatic,  for  the  hordes  of  which  it  was  composed 
were  drawn  from  the  Oxus,  the  Indus,  and  the 
Euphrates.  Here  at  Arbela  the  elephants  and 
scythed  chariots  of  the  East  were  hurled  against 
the  solid  walls  of  Macedonian  shields.  Those 
walls  were  broken,  but  the  battle  was  won  by  the 
impetuous  young  mountain  chief,  who  struck 


126  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  vast  hosts  of  the  plains  dwellers  with  his 
little  force  of  Companions,  until  he  so  bewildered 
them  that  they  fled  in  terror  to  the  camp  at  Arbela. 
Indeed  this  battle  was  typical  of  all  the  great 
conflicts  between  West  and  East,  for  it  was  won 
by  a  little  group  of  daring  men,  each  fitted  to 
lead  an  army,  yet  working  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  his  companions,  so  as  to  form  a  unit,  divisible 
into  any  number  of  responsible  parts.  Against 
them  was  a  great  mass  of  humanity,  in  which 
the  individual  was  nothing,  counted  for  nothing ;  a 
host  that  was  united  by  the  fact  of  geographical 
locality,  without  unity  of  race,  speech,  or  senti- 
ment; a  host  that  might  be  moved  like  a  tidal 
wave  upon  an  enemy  and  engulf  him  by  sheer 
force  of  numbers,  but  which,  once  broken,  was  a 
mere  rabble,  without  sense  or  purpose.  European 
civilization  has  always  stood  for  the  development 
of  individual  responsibility,  while  Asia  represents 
the  group  system  and  the  merging  of  the  individual 
with  the  tribe,  the  race,  the  empire.  This  fact 
gave  Alexander  his  victory,  for  it  mattered  not 
how  often  his  devoted  Companion  cavalry  broke 
their  ranks  against  some  massive  tabor  of  Eastern 
levies,  they  always  returned  to  his  standard  for 
another  charge.  And  so  it  was  with  his  phalanxes ; 
though  broken  and  almost  buried  in  the  midst 
of  the  enemy  they  continued  to  fight  as  individuals 
until  their  ranks  could  be  reformed.  But  with 
the  barbarians  it  was  otherwise.  If  a  leader  was 
slain  they  fled  in  terror,  if  a  rank  was  broken,  the 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  127 

men  threw  down  their  arms,  for  they  knew  of 
fighting  only  with  hedges  of  spears,  not  with  sepa- 
rate points. 

When  their  fleeing  groups  of  terrified  men  had 
disappeared  down  the  valley,  and  Alexander  had 
taken  up  his  position  at  Arbela,  the  gate  of  Asia  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  conqueror  and  all  of  the  rich 
lands  of  Babylon,  of  Persia,  and  of  India  lay  open 
before  him. 

After  leaving  Erbil  we  rode  all  day  up  the 
valley  which  was,  nearly  2250  years  ago,  the 
scene  of  that  wild  pursuit  in  which  Alexander's 
Companion  cavalry  rode  to  death  more  horses 
than  were  killed  in  the  battle.  As  we  neared  the 
river  Zab  it  became  more  rolling,  before  breaking 
down  to  the  level  plain  on  which  the  battle  was 
fought, — the  plain  of  Aturia,  better  known  today 
as  that  of  Mosul.  Again  we  rode  for  hours  over 
parallel  ridges  of  equal  altitude,  like  the  mountains 
on  the  Assyrian  reliefs.  We  could  picture  here 
the  terrible  rout  of  that  vast  army  of  Darius,  the 
fleeing  footmen  of  the  King's  famous  guards, 
heavy  with  gold  armour  and  broidered  baldrics, 
the  long-haired  horse-bowmen  of  Khorassan, 
dashing  about  on  their  stocky  Turkoman  ponies, 
picking  up  a  load  of  loot  from  their  erstwhile 
masters  preparatory  to  their  long  homeward 
journey  to  the  Caspian  steppes,  and  finally  the 
splendid  cavalry  of  Macedon,  in  classic  armour 
contrasting  forcibly  with  the  fantastic  garb  of 
those  they  had  conquered,  cutting  down  the 


128  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Persian  spearmen,  or  surprising  a  party  of  tribes- 
men who  had  stopped  in  one  of  the  hollows  to 
gather  loot  from  helpless  Babylonian  infantrymen. 

Today  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  in  those 
hollows  but  occasional  flocks  of  sheep  watched 
over  by  Kurds  whose  black  tents  appear  beside 
the  rare,  muddy  wells.  The  day  was  hot  and  we 
had  been  ten  days  on  the  road  from  Bagdad 
without  once  tasting  cold  water.  Tea  had  been 
our  only  drink,  except  occasionally  cocoa,  and  at 
times  it  was  made  with  water  clear  enough  to 
show  the  bottom  of  the  cup ;  at  such  .times  it  was 
free  from  any  taste  but  that  of  tea;  more  often 
it  not  only  tasted  of  the  stagnant  pool  whence  the 
water  came  but  bore  other  reminders  of  that  un- 
savoury place  in  the  aroma. 

So  it  was  with  the  keenest  delight  that  we 
reached  the  crystal  waters  of  the  Great  Zab,  the 
river  of  the  Kurds,  that  rises  among  the  mountains 
on  the  Persian  frontier  and  is  fed  by  the  melting 
snows  of  the  mighty  Hakkiari  hills,  now  clearly  to 
be  seen  up  its  turbulent  stream.  The  waters, 
fresh  with  the  chill  of  the  snow,  offered  the  most 
welcome  means  of  satisfying  the  yearning  thirst 
that  had  been  growing  on  us  during  all  that 
desert  journey,  and  we  lost  no  time  in  discarding 
our  garments  and  plunging  into  the  limpid  depths 
of  a  wide  eddy. 

The  bridge  that  sets  out  to  cross  the  river  on 
this  road  is  like  many  of  those  built  by  the  Turks, 
and  quite  characteristic  of  their  incompetency. 


Kurdistan  and  the  Upper  Tigris  129 

It  starts  out  in  splendid  style,  a  series  of  well- 
built  stone  arches  that  span  an  easily  forded  back- 
water. Beyond  them  a  bridge  of  boats  is  supposed 
to  lie  across  the  main  channel,  where  the  surging 
current  had  seemed  too  formidable  to  the  engineers. 
But  this  detail  had  been  neglected  and  so  the 
bridge  was  of  no  use  to  any  one.  We  splashed 
across  the  backwater  beside  the  mass  of  masonry 
that  so  signally  fails  in  its  purpose,  and  then 
crossed  in  a  ramshackle,  box-like  ferryboat. 
The  Turk  makes  a  fine  showing  when  the  going 
is  easy,  but  where  skill  and  patience  are  required, 
he  falls  down  completely. 

Safe  across  the  Zab,  another  day  brought  us  to 
the  mounds  of  Nineveh  which  look  across  to  Mosul. 
To  the  right  as  we  rode  down  once  more  to  the 
muddy  old  Tigris  lay  the  palace  of  Sennacherib, 
to  the  left  the  reputed  tomb  of  Jonah,  sacred  to 
Moslem,  Jew,  and  Christian  alike.  Down  among 
a  train  of  camels  we  rode  on  to  the  handsome  stone 
bridge.  A  police  officer  examined  our  papers, 
we  paid  the  toll,  and  set  out  to  cross  the  Tigris. 
As  with  the  bridge  of  yesterday  the  arches  soon 
gave  out  and  we  rode  down  an  incline  to  the 
sagging  plank  roadway  of  the  pontoon  bridge  that 
crossed  the  real  channel.  What  would  Saladin 
have  said  to  this  half-hearted  way  of  doing  things, 
the  great  Saladin,  defender  of  the  faith,  who  at 
this  place  turned  the  very  Tigris  from  its  course  to 
prosecute  the  siege  of  the  city ! 

So  we  came  to  Mosul,  and  having  seen  our  horses 


130  The  Gate  of  Asia 

to  a  khan,  made  our  way  to  the  British  vice- 
consulate  where  we  were  most  cordially  welcomed 
by  one  of  our  own  race,  who  kindly  threw  open 
his  dwelling  for  our  comfort. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MOSUL,    A   CITY   OF   PRIMITIVE  LAWLESSNESS 

MOSUL,  the  modern  Nineveh,  is  a  most  pictur- 
esque city,  both  in  its  outward  appearance 
and  in  its  daily  life.  But  beautiful  it  is  not  and, 
though  Arab  to  the  core,  it  cannot  boast  of  any  of 
those  scenes  that  romance  associates  with  Araby 
the  blest.  Furthermore  it  is  utterly  devoid  of 
any  sentiment  for  municipal  beautification,  or 
conception  of  civic  righteousness. 

It  is  a  large  city,  though  situated  in  a  very 
isolated  locality,  with  a  population  of  80,000  at 
least.  The  bulk  of  these  are  Shammar  Arabs, 
who  took  the  city  in  the  early  days  of  the  spread  of 
Islam,  during  the  seventh  century.  They  are  a 
Bedouin  tribe  and  their  people  had  no  idea  of 
living  in  cities.  Consequently  those  who  took 
up  their  residence  within  the  walls  applied  to 
their  new  homes  the  standards  of  desert  life,  while 
their  chiefs  continued  to  exercise  the  absolute 
power  of  the  nomad  patriarch.  In  this  condition 
they  have  continued  to  this  day.  The  citizens 
have  learned  the  vices  of  the  city  and  lost  the 
virtues  of  their  former  habits  of  life;  their  chiefs 


132  The  Gate  of  Asia 

have  become  a  ring  of  tyrannical  oppressors,  with 
unchecked  power,  feared  by  all  and  growing  fatter 
and  fatter  on  the  labours  of  the  people. 

The  original  inhabitants  still  retain  their  national 
characteristics  and  religion,  which  is  Christian, 
though  a  few  have  turned  to  Islam  and  merged 
with  the  Arabs.  The  Christian  population  num- 
bers about  20,000  and  forms  the  backbone  of  the 
city.  Although  they  claim,  without  doubt  rightly, 
to  be  the  descendants  of  the  Assyrians,  they  have 
adopted  the  Arabic  language,  and  are  in  much 
closer  sympathy  with  their  Moslem  neighbours 
than  is  the  rule  with  their  co-religionists  elsewhere. 
As  a  result,  though  robbed  and  murdered  and  re- 
viled in  every  direction,  they  are  never  massacred. 
During  the  recent  massacres  elsewhere,  the  Turks 
proposed  bringing  in  Kurds  from  outside  the 
city  to  do  the  slaughtering,  as  was  done  in  many 
other  cities,  but  they  were  warned  by  the  leading 
citizens  that  if  they  did  they  would  find  the 
Christian  and  Moslem  populations  united.  The 
reason  for  this  is  that  all  the  industrial  work  is 
done  by  these  people,  and  the  Moslem  shop- 
keepers and  traders  depend  on  them  for  supplies 
of  leather  goods,  cloth,  and  cigarette-papers, 
which  are  the  chief  products  of  the  city.  They  are 
also  the  builders  and  serve  all  over  the  city  as 
architects,  carpenters,  and  masons,  as  they  were 
compelled  to  do  at  first  when  their  Bedouin  con- 
querors naturally  had  no  idea  of  those  arts. 
Curiously  enough,  however,  these  city  builders 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       133 

do  not  undertake  such  work  as  churches  or  the 
more  pretentious  houses,  but  leave  them  to  a 
Christian  tribe  of  mountaineers  from  the  valley  of 
Baz,  in  the  very  heart  of  Kurdistan.  This  tribe 
is  a  sort  of  hereditary  guild  that  migrates  in  a 
body  to  Mosul  each  year,  and  applies  to  its  work 
secrets  that  have  been  in  its  possession  during 
centuries  of  architectural  experience.  They  closely 
resemble  the  great  guild  of  cathedral  builders 
that  gave  England  its  great  episcopal  edifices, 
and  similar  organizations  on  the  Continent,  espe- 
cially in  Italy  where  the  mosaic  workers  went  from 
place  to  place,  generation  after  generation,  laying 
such  floors  as  those  of  the  Duomo  in  Siena  and 
Santa  Croce. 

The  houses  in  Mosul  are  built  of  irregular 
blocks  of  stone  laid  in  thick  mortar.  They  are 
usually  covered  with  a  white  stucco,  made  by 
burning  the  local  gypsum  rock.  The  roofs,  of  the 
same  material  as  the  walls,  are  usually  flat, 
with  a  waist-high  parapet,  but  are  not  infrequently 
domed.  Doorways  are  often  made  of  slabs  of  the 
easily  carved  gypsum,  and  are  picturesque  but 
perishable.  Indeed  that  quality  is  characteristic 
of  the  whole  style  of  building,  for  the  stucco  and 
mortar  quickly  crumble,  covering  the  streets  with 
white  dust,  and  so  weakening  the  walls  that  they 
buckle  and  fall. 

The  streets  are  narrow  and  aimless,  forming  a 
perfect  maze  of  tangled  lanes.  As  there  is  no 
system  of  sewage  whatever,  they  serve  as  reposi- 


134  The  Gate  of  Asia 

tories  for  all  the  filth  of  the  houses  that  border 
on  them.  They  are  rarely  so  wide  that  more 
than  two  men  can  walk  abreast  and  the  stench  in 
the  narrow  sun-traps  is  well-nigh  unbearable  at 
times.  Sun-traps  they  are  because  of  the  white 
walls  and  white  dust  that  reflect  the  sun's  rays  to 
the  maximum  extent.  As  a  result  of  the  fine 
dust,  the  filth,  and  the  glare,  ophthalmia  and 
lung-diseases  abound,  and  flies  breed  in  the  open 
refuse  heaps  in  astonishing  numbers.  These 
insects,  which  we  are  learning  to  abhor  in  the 
West,  are  rather  petted  here  and  swarm  over 
everything.  They  cause  the  button,  common 
also  in  Aleppo  and  Bagdad,  an  ailment  resembling 
a  carbuncle,  which  persists  for  a  period  of  months, 
and  leaves  an  ugly  scar. 

Despite  the  filth  outside,  the  houses,  which 
turn  a  blank  wall  to  the  streets,  are  very  pictur- 
esque. They  are  on  the  same  plan  as  those  of 
Bagdad,  a  plan  that  is  of  great  antiquity  for  it  is 
characteristic  of  the  dwellings  of  ancient  Babylonia 
and  Assyria.  But  the  materials  here  used  offer 
more  opportunities  for  architectural  expression 
than  does  the  uncompromising  brick  of  Bagdad. 
The  court  is  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  fronting 
both  the  upper  and  lower  stories.  The  columns 
are  cut  from  the  soft  gypsum  and  neatly  turned, 
with  capitals  ornamented  in  low  relief.  The 
lower  story  has  the  cook's  sanctum  on  one  side, 
the  servants'  quarters  on  another,  and  on  the 
others  serdabs,  the  heavy  basements  whither  the 


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Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       135 

family  retire  in  hot  weather.  The  ordinary 
living-rooms  open  upon  the  upper  gallery,  with 
doors  and  windows  fitted  with  stone  lintels  carved 
with  arabesques.  The  roof  above  is  an  excellent 
vantage  ground  from  which  to  shoot  at  one's 
enemy  in  the  street  below,  and  affords  a  comfort- 
able sleeping-place  in  hot  weather,  when  the 
upper  rooms  are  scorching  with  the  heat  stored  up 
during  the  day  in  the  porous  walls.  On  the  side 
of  the  court  that  is  toward  Mecca  there  is  often 
a  sort  of  apse,  a  lofty  niche,  two  stories  in  height, 
usually  carved  and  painted.  It  serves  the  same 
purpose  as  the  iconostasis  in  a  Russian  dwelling, 
and  toward  it  the  family  face  at  the  hours  of 
prayer. 

The  house  in  which  we  stayed  was  not  so  pro- 
vided, for  it  was  originally  a  Jacobite  Christian 
monastery  and  for  some  time  has  been  leased  from 
the  brotherhood  by  succeeding  British  consuls. 
We  lived  in  the  part  formerly  used  as  cells  and 
refectory  by  the  monks,  while  the  other  half,  the 
chapel,  is  still  used  as  a  church.  Instead  of  the 
niche  toward  Mecca,  a  cross  was  carved  upon  every 
lintel,  and  a  Christian  text  appeared  over  the  well, 
which  was  on  one  side  of  the  court. 

Besides  the  small  rooms  occupied  as  bedrooms, 
dining-room,  and  study,  there  is  over  the  main 
entrance  a  large  room  with  a  bay-window  looking 
out  toward  the  Tigris,  used  as  a  reception  room. 
This  was  charmingly  fitted  up  with  Oriental  rugs 
and  hangings  by  our  host,  and  not  by  the  govern- 


136  The  Gate  of  Asia 

ment  as  is  usual  in  consulates.  We  were  told 
that  a  former  consul  had  the  honour  to  apply, 
respectfully  and  in  due  form,  for  funds  for  such  a 
purpose,  and  had  the  honour  to  be,  etc.  This 
request  met  with  a  curt  refusal,  which  was  ex- 
plained by  the  statement  that  his  guests  would 
be  only  a  few  old  sea  captains,  for  whom  such 
extravagance  would  be  quite  unwarranted.  Im- 
agine old  sea  captains  appearing  in  a  city  hundreds 
of  miles  from  any  sea,  on  a  river  navigated  only 
by  a  few  goatskin  rafts  that  float  down  on  the 
current  from  Diyarbekr! 

In  a  corner  of  the  court  stands  the  flagstaff 
from  which  the  consul  is  accustomed  to  flaunt 
the  cross  of  St.  George — who  by  the  way  is  the 
patron  saint  of  the  local  Christians — in  the  very 
face  of  the  subjects  of  the  Sultan.  It  occurred  to 
certain  followers  of  the  true  Prophet  that  this 
cross  was  raised  to  a  greater  height  than  the 
crescent  which  surmounts  the  dome  of  a  nearby 
tomb,  that  of  the  saint  and  descendant  of  the 
Prophet,  Seyyid  Kasim.  When  this  fact  was 
noised  abroad  a  leader  was  found  in  the  person 
of  a  fanatical  dervish,  and  an  attack  in  force  was 
made  on  the  consulate.  Not  until  help  arrived 
from  the  Vali,  whose  residence,  with  the 
barracks  of  the  troops,  is  on  the  other  side  of 
the  city,  could  the  consul  consider  himself  safe. 
Of  course  the  flag  was  not  taken  down,  but  it 
may  be  interesting  to  note  that  the  tomb  is 
rapidly  falling  into  ruin.  Part  of  its  garden  wall 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       13? 

has  already  toppled  into  the  Tigris,  which  con- 
tinues to  undermine  the  bank,  so  the  dome  will 
soon  follow  suit.  When  this  happens  it  will  be 
taken  as  proof  that  Kasim  objects  to  the  flaunting 
of  that  flag.  Meanwhile  it  occurs  to  no  one  to 
seek  to  preserve  the  sacred  edifice,  for  that  would 
be  working  against  the  manifest  will  of  Allah. 

The  consulate  stands  just  within  the  north  wall 
but  well  without  the  city  itself,  for  this  whole 
section  was  abandoned  some  time  ago  after  a 
desolating  visit  of  the  plague.  This  space  is  a 
wilderness  of  ruined  walls  and  graves,  mounds 
that  once  were  blocks  of  houses,  separated  by 
gullies  that  were  streets.  Occasionally  there  is  a 
garden,  of  alfalfa  perhaps,  or  cucumbers,  watered 
by  a  ditch  filled  from  the  river  by  a  water-wheel. 
Each  is  protected  by  a  watchman  who  lives  in  a 
hut  of  brush,  covered  with  a  ragged  piece  of  tent 
cloth  which  rather  adds  to  the  general  appearance 
of  desolation:  for  it  is  such  a  "lodge  in  a  garden  of 
cucumbers"  as  Isaiah  mentions  as  the  very  type 
of  dilapidation.  This  is  a  famous  place  in  which 
to  commit  murders,  and  indeed  a  man  was  shot 
there  almost  before  our  eyes.  We  watched  the 
hue  and  cry  that  followed  the  murderer;  but  he 
was  soon  swallowed  up  by  the  city  and  lost  among 
its  devious  ways — quite  the  usual  thing  in  Mosul. 

The  wall  that  once  surrounded  the  city  is 
picturesque  but  dilapidated.  Part  of  it  is  impos- 
ing, with  battlements  and  towers,  but  much  has 
fallen  into  ruin.  This  process  is  assisted  both  by 


138  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  citizens  and  the  government  officials,  who 
covet  its  stones  for  other  uses.  Just  behind  the 
consulate  is  a  picturesque,  low-arched  gateway, 
a  sort  of  postern  in  a  long  stretch  of  excellent  wall. 
Because  of  its  isolation  it  has  but  a  small  guard, 
and,  for  the  reason  that  a  small  guard  is  easier 
to  bribe  than  a  large  one,  it  is  a  favourite  place  for 
tobacco  smugglers  to  enter  the  city.  This  is,  of 
course,  done  at  night  when  all  is  pitch  dark,  there 
being  no  lights  save  the  dim  lanterns  of  the  watch, 
that  serve  rather  to  blind  those  that  hold  them 
than  to  afford  any  light.  The  smugglers  announce 
their  coming  with  a  furious  fusillade.  Then  they 
proceed  to  "force"  their  way  through  the  gate 
despite  the  gallant  (?)  resistance  of  the  guards,  who 
discharge  their  rifles  into  the  air,  with  the  noise 
of  a  pitched  battle.  As  the  animals  pass  the  gate, 
their  masters  pay  a  mejid  (eighty  cents)  a  load  and 
go  on,  by  ways  best  known  to  themselves,  into  the 
city.  The  duty  would  be  several  pounds,  a  loss 
which  is  made  up  for  next  morning  by  an  elaborate 
report,  whereupon  the  Hukumet  (government) 
pays  for  the  ammunition.  A  stray  bullet  fre- 
quently hits  the  consulate. 

Many  entertaining  stories  are  told  of  these 
tobacco  smugglers,  one  of  which  I  shall  venture 
to  repeat.  It  must  be  understood  that  the  tobacco 
monopoly  in  Turkey  is  farmed  out  to  a  company 
called  the  "Regie,"  which  has  the  sole  right  of 
manufacturing  and  selling  that  valuable  commod- 
ity, which  it  handles  at  great  profit  both  to  itself 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       139 

and  the  Hukumet.  It  has  its  own  force  of  in- 
spectors, guards,  and  police. 

It  is  with  the  latter  my  story  has  to  deal,  for 
they  attacked  a  caravan,  belonging  to  the  leading 
smuggler  of  the  city,  as  it  was  passing  through  the 
streets.  In  the  skirmish  a  policeman  was  killed, 
a  fact  that  could  not  be  overlooked,  even  by  the 
authorities,  who  were  accustomed  to  receive  their 
cigarettes  from  the  great  smuggler,  without 
charge  and  without  the  stamp  of  the  Regie.  It 
happened  that  the  fatal  bullet  was  of  a  peculiar 
type  that  fitted  only  one  rifle  in  the  city,  a  rifle 
that  belonged  to  the  great  smuggler,  who  never 
allowed  it  out  of  his  reach.  Furthermore  there 
were  those  who  had  seen  its  owner  upon  a  roof 
that  overlooked  the  scene  of  the  fracas.  Under 
such  provocation  that  personage  had  to  be  ar- 
rested. But  in  durance  vile  he  was  not  kept,  for 
he  sat  at  the  door  of  a  coffee-house  without  the 
city  gaol,  whence  he  set  his  friends  and  adherents 
to  hustle  those  who  came  to  make  complaint 
against  him. 

At  the  trial  it  was  held  that  the  policeman  was 
guilty  of  contributory  negligence,  having  gotten 
in  the  way  of  a  bullet  that  was  going  about  its 
business  in  the  open  street,  as  it  had  a  perfect 
right  to  do.  Are  not  the  streets  free  to  all?  As 
for  the  evidence  regarding  the  bullet  and  the  man 
seen  on  the  roof,  it  was  ruled  out,  for  these  matters 
were  the  private  affairs  of  the  gentleman  at  the  bar, 
and  it  was  not  right  that  they  should  be  pried  into. 


140  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  bazaars  of  Mosul  are  poor  and  dirty,  rarely 
roofed,  and  furnished  only  with  the  commonest 
wares.  The  shopkeepers  are  generally  Christians, 
but  there  are  many  Arabs,  and  all  wear  the  long 
tunic,  aba,  and  egal  of  that  race.  Garden  produce 
is  often  sold  in  the  squares  in  open  market,  and  at 
any  time  venders  may  be  seen  squatting  in  the 
streets  with  eggs  or  cucumbers  in  a  basket,  while 
the  mosque  court-yards  are  favourite  places  for 
sweetmeats  sellers  who  display  "Turkish  delight" 
on  scalloped  copper  trays.  These  street  venders 
are  often  Kurds  and  wear  one  of  the  tribal  costumes 
of  that  race,  or  something  between  it  and  the 
Arab  habit.  All  butchers  are  necessarily  Moslem, 
for  no  follower  of  that  faith  will  purchase  flesh  of  an 
unbeliever.  Many  of  the  greengrocers  also  are 
Mohammedans,  as  are  the  potters.  But  nearly 
all  the  drapers,  venders  of  dry-goods,  hardware, 
and  leather  goods,  and  all  the  artisans,  are  Chris- 
tian, with  the  exception  of  a  few  Jews.  Of 
the  latter  there  are  about  5000  in  Mosul,  but  they 
are  not  progressive  and  have  dropped  their 
language  and  adopted  Arab  dress.  Though 
practically  without  any  schools  until  the  last 
decade  they  have  held  to  their  religion  with 
characteristic  tenacity.  They  always  close  their 
shops  on  Saturday,  as  do  the  Moslems  on  Friday 
and  the  Christians  on  Sunday,  an  arrangement 
that  rather  expedites  matters,  for  some  shops  are 
thus  always  open. 

The  bazaars  radiate  from  a  picturesque  square, 


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Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       141 

quite  near  the  bridge,  which  is  the  centre  of 
the  town.  To  the  south  and  south-west  are  the 
drapers,  shoemakers,  and  harness-makers;  to  the 
north-west  are  the  streets  of  the  butchers  and 
greengrocers;  while  the  potters  and  dealers  in 
hardware  are  to  be  found  in  narrow  stalls  opening 
on  a  street  that  runs  to  the  north.  Above  them 
rises  a  half-ruined  mosque  with  a  massive  minaret 
of  picturesquely  patterned  brickwork.  Like  all 
the  minarets  of  this  ramshackle  city  it  leans  pre- 
cariously and  is  kept  from  overtopping  itself  by  a 
kink,  the  upper  part  leaning  at  quite  a  different 
angle  from  the  lower — the  builders  evidently 
thought  two  wrongs  would  make  a  right.  The 
squat  dome  beside  it  was  occupied  by  the  nest  of  a 
very  superior  stork,  that  looked  down  in  a  shocked 
way  from  time  to  time  upon  the  clamour  of  the 
streets  below. 

The  square  itself  is  a  meeting-place  of  caravans, 
whose  owners  sit  on  the  second-storey  gallery  of  a 
coffee-shop,  while  the  muleteers  stroll  about  the 
crowded  place  with  cigarettes  in  their  mouths,  or 
lounge  among  bales  covered  with  brown  and  white 
striped  sackcloth.  These  men  are  almost  always 
Kurds,  those  from  the  southern  and  eastern  tribes 
dressed  in  tunic,  zouave  jacket,  and  turban  as  I 
have  elsewhere  described.  But  more  picturesque 
than  these  are  the  northern  Kurds,  of  the  Hak- 
kiari  tribes.  They  are  broad-shouldered,  big- 
chested,  pleasant-faced  men,  with  flashing  eyes 
and  an  energetic  air,  stepping  out  freely,  and  al- 


142  The  Gate  of  Asia 

ways  jesting.  They  are  strikingly  different  from 
the  slouching,  vagrant-eyed,  ugly,  vicious  Arabs 
of  the  city,  who  are  excitable  but  cowardly,  and 
bear  all  the  earmarks  of  idleness  and  cunning. 
These  men  of  the  north  are  picturesque  in  dress 
also.  They  wear  baggy  trousers  reaching  to  the 
feet,  which  are  covered  with  brogues  of  heavy 
hemp  or  rawhide.  A  jacket  to  match  the  trousers 
is  held  in  place  by  a  coloured  sash,  and  may  be 
covered,  in  cold  weather,  by  a  short  sleeveless 
vest  of  goatskin,  with  the  shaggy  side  out.  On 
their  heads  they  wear  a  hat  of  heavy  felt,  usually 
dome-shaped,  with  a  scarf  tied  jauntily  around  it. 
This  costume  emphasizes  the  broad,  stocky 
build  of  these  men  of  Hakkiari,  and  sets  them 
apart  instantly  as  of  a  different  race  from  the 
slender  Arabs.  We  took  great  interest  in  these 
men  for  it  was  into  their  country  that  we  were 
planning  to  travel. 

Near  the  square  are  coffee-houses,  frequented 
by  lazy  Moslems  who  live  off  the  labours  of  their 
poorer  neighbours  and  the  Christian  tradesmen, 
and  also  by  the  equally  parasitic  officers  of  the 
garrison.  There  is  too  an  auction  market,  a 
narrow  square  where  dickering  is  always  going 
on  over  something,  in  the  midst  of  an  excited, 
shouting,  fighting  crowd. 

The  principal  mosque  of  the  city  is  in  this 
neighbourhood,  and  can  be  found  by  the  stranger 
only  with  the  help  of  a  guide,  so  devious  are  the 
ways  that  lead  to  it,  although  it  can  be  seen  from 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       143 

many  points  in  the  bazaar.  It  is  the  best  built 
Mohammedan  building  in  Mosul,  for  its  walls 
and  arched  porches  are  chiefly  of  cut  stone,  and 
it  is  provided  with  a  minaret  of  the  same  material, 
properly  laid  in  perfectly  regular  courses.  It  is 
not  beautiful  however  nor  is  it  decorated  like 
those  of  Bagdad.  The  entrance  is  through  a 
porch  faced  by  a  graceful  Saracenic  colonnade,  in 
very  good  repair  for  Turkey,  and  quite  picturesque. 
In  the  centre  of  the  broad,  flagged  court  stands  a 
now  disused  fountain  of  ablution,  supported  by 
a  handsome  old  canopy.  It  is  composed  of  a 
hexagonal  roof  of  very  mean  workmanship — 
probably  a  rude  restoration — supported  by  six 
beautifully  carved  arches  of  the  local  gypsum 
rock,  white  in  colour  with  pale  green  marblings. 
The  hexagonal  columns  are  of  the  same  material, 
which  is  weathered  just  enough  to  give  an  air  of 
antiquity  to  the  whole.  I  tried  to  find  someone 
who  could  tell  me  something  of  this  really  beautiful 
piece  of  work,  but  beyond  the  statement  that  it 
was  very  old — a  fact  plainly  to  be  seen  by  any  one 
— I  could  gather  nothing. 

From  the  bazaars  a  gate  surmounted  by  a 
massive  square  tower  leads  down  to  the  waterside, 
and  beyond  it  is  the  city  lumber-yard.  Now  the 
mention  of  a  lumber-yard  presents  to  the  Western 
mind  a  picture  of  neat  piles  of  boards  in  a  great 
enclosure,  with  a  sawmill  at  one  side  whence 
comes  the  hum  of  sawing  and  the  clatter  of  newly 
cut  boards.  But  in  Mosul  there  is  no  such  sight. 


144  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Situated  in  the  midst  of  a  treeless  region,  with  no 
source  of  supply  or  means  of  transportation  save 
the  Tigris,  the  city  depends  almost  entirely  on  the 
wood  used  for  the  frames  of  the  keleks,  the  skin 
rafts,  on  which  merchandise  and  passengers  are 
floated  down  from  Diyarbekr.  These  frames  are 
made  of  light  poles,  rarely  more  than  three  inches 
in  diameter,  almost  invariably  of  poplar.  They 
are  weathered  black  and  split  from  having  been 
water-logged  and  then  exposed  to  the  dry  air, 
and  piled  on  end  in  this  lumber-yard  by  the 
Tigris.  They  are  used  for  roofing  and  flooring, 
but  practically  nothing  else.  The  wood  for  doors 
and  window  frames  comes  from  the  board  floors 
built  on  the  rafts  that  carry  passengers.  Above 
this  desolate  wood-yard  with  its  piles  of  dirty, 
black,  crooked  poles  rises  a  half-ruined  minaret, 
on  the  balcony  of  which  a  stork  has  built  her  nest, 
of  the  sticks  and  withes  with  which  the  rafts  were 
held  together. 

This  city  of  Mosul  has  the  reputation  of  being 
the  most  turbulent  in  Turkey  and  we  heard 
many  echoes  of  the  riots  of  1909,  during  which  the 
government  forces  were  entirely  withdrawn  and 
the  place  was  left  in  the  hands  of  the  neighbouring 
landholders.  These  Arab  begs  rule  the  city  at 
all  times  by  means  of  paid  bravos,  who  are  always 
ready  for  any  form  of  deviltry,  and  when  not 
employed  as  assassins,  make  things  go  by  sys- 
tematic burglary  or  smuggling.  Occasionally  they 
go  too  far  and  have  to  take  up  their  residence 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       145 

for  a  short  time  in  the  jail.  It  is  told  of  one 
such  gang  that,  while  kept  in  jail  all  day,  they 
were  free  to  ply  their  trade  at  night;  the  results 
of  which  were  of  course  shared  with  the  chief 
warden. 

The  trouble  of  1909  grew  out  of  the  disturbed 
state  of  affairs  that  obtained  during  the  revolution 
in  Constantinople,  but  it  was  directly  caused  by 
the  jealousies  that  exist  between  the  people  of 
Mosul  and  their  Kurdish  and  Turkish  neighbours. 
There  was  actually  a  blood  feud  at  one  time  with 
Suleimanieh  on  the  Persian  frontier,  and  it  was 
certain  death  for  an  inhabitant  of  one  town  to 
appear  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  other.  But 
Kerkuk  is  the  traditional  enemy  of  Mosul,  and 
the  Turks  have  been  accustomed  to  back  their 
authority  with  a  mounted  battalion  from  that 
city.  On  January  2d  trouble  began  between 
its  sowars  (troopers)  and  the  citizens.  Things 
got  so  bad  that  one  of  the  former  insulted  a 
Moslem  woman,  a  most  unusual  thing.  The 
Arabs  quickly  killed  the  guilty  man  but  the 
Kerkuklis  ran  amuck  and  attacked  other  women 
before  they  could  get  to  shelter.  No  more  deadly 
insult  could  have  been  perpetrated  and  by  it 
the  sowars  brought  the  whole  population  about 
their  ears,  and  every  native  of  Kerkuk  that  could 
not  get  out  of  the  city  was  soon  hunted  down  and 
killed.  Meanwhile  the  authorities  did  nothing, 
for  the  Vali  did  not  know  how  he  stood  at  Con- 
stantinople, and  feared  to  do  anything  lest  it 


146  The  Gate  of  Asia 

make  his  position  worse — a  typical  attitude  of 
the  Turkish  official. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  disturbance,  the 
sowars  were  driven  back  to  their  barracks  where 
they  were  besieged  without  food.  After  a  few 
days  they  threw  themselves  on  the  mercy  of  the 
Vali,  and  to  him  came  also  the  mob  demanding 
vengeance.  Then  occurred  the  most  dramatic 
incident  in  the  whole  affair.  Opposite  the  very 
windows  of  the  Vali  lived  one  of  the  holiest  men 
in  Turkey,  Sheikh  Seyyid  of  Suleimanieh,  intimate 
of  the  Sultan,  instigator  of  massacres,  tyrant  of  a 
large  province  on  the  Persian  frontier,  but  of 
Kurdish  race,  and  therefore  anathema  to  every 
good  Mosuli.  Against  his  house  the  anger  of  the 
mob  was  directed  and  they  soon  had  almost 
effected  an  entrance.  But  their  work  was  stopped 
by  the  appearance  of  the  white-bearded  old  man 
himself.  Finding  his  position  in  the  house  quite 
defenceless  he  had  decided,  with  the  courage  of 
his  race,  to  defy  the  danger  and  trust  to  his  reputa- 
tion for  sanctity  to  pass  the  mob.  In  his  gorgeous 
priestly  robes,  bedecked  with  priceless  pearls, 
gifts  of  Abdul-Hamid  himself,  and  bearing  in  his 
hand  the  sacred  Koran,  he  set  out  across  the 
street  to  the  gate  of  the  serai,  whence  the  Vali, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  defend  him,  watched  from 
an  upper  window. 

At  first  the  crowd  drew  back  and  a  dead  silence 
fell  on  the  street.  With  a  steady  step  and  un- 
moved face  the  old  man  moved  down  the  lane  that 


1 

"3 
a, 


PQ 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       147 

opened  as  he  advanced  straight  toward  the  door  of 
the  serai.  When  he  had  half  crossed  the  street 
someone  in  the  crowd  shouted  a  vile  epithet,  and 
that  was  sufficient  to  break  the  spell.  The  mob 
surged  toward  its  victim;  those  nearest  to  him 
raised  their  weapons  and  struck;  others  pushed 
in  and  stabbed  and  hacked  until  the  body  of  the 
brave  old  priest  was  torn  to  bits.  This  holy 
sheikh,  whose  prayers  had,  it  is  said,  saved  the 
life  of  one  of  Abdul-Hamid's  children,  was  mur- 
dered before  the  eyes  of  the  trembling,  inverte- 
brate Vali,  who  represented  the  powers  that  were 
supposed  to  be.  Meanwhile  the  crowd '  poured 
into  their  victim's  house  and  killed  seventeen  of 
his  sons — the  rest  were  safe  in  Kerkuk,  and  after- 
wards succeeded  their  father  in  power  at  Sulei- 
manieh. 

No  greater  defiance  than  this  could  have  been 
offered  the  government  of  the  Sultan,  who,  though 
soon  to  be  deposed,  was  still  all-powerful.  Know- 
ing they  could  expect  no  forgiveness  the  people 
went  wild  and  a  reign  of  terror  began,  during 
which  every  possible  insult  was  offered  the  Huku- 
met,  and  its  prestige  was  sadly  dragged  in  the 
dust.  I  have  already  stated  that  the  dust  of 
Mosul  is  very  foul. 

This  series  of  incidents  so  roused  the  central 
government  that,  in  course  of  time,  they  sent  a 
real  man  to  Mosul  as  Vali,  one  Tahir  Pasha,  an 
Albanian,  whose  son  we  later  became  intimate 
with  on  the  Persian  frontier.  This  man  Tahir 


148  The  Gate  of  Asia 

took  things  in  hand,  and  would  allow  no  one  to 
dictate  to  him,  nor  would  he  ever  fail  to  carry  out 
a  threat,  or  make  a  promise  he  could  not  keep. 
He  was  an  honest  man  and  took  no  bribes — unless 
they  were  very  large — for  he  had  made  his  fortune 
in  a  former  position  and  did  not  have  to.  One 
thing  that  he  accomplished,  that  had  never  been 
heard  of  before  in  Mosul,  was  the  execution  of  a 
man  by  due  process  of  law.  A  Christian  was 
killed  by  a  co-religionist  of  a  different  sect,  on 
account  of  religious  differences,  and  a  most  shock- 
ing murder  it  was.  The  slayer  was  condemned  to 
death,  but  nobody  thought  much  of  that,  for  many 
are  the  ways  of  getting  around  such  a  sentence. 
But  in  this  case  they  all  failed,  even  when  the 
prisoner  offered  to  turn  Moslem.  The  day  came, 
but  the  executioner  refused  to  do  his  duty,  saying 
he  had  never  done  such  a  thing  as  cut  a  man's 
head  off  and  did  not  know  how.  So  volunteers 
were  called  for  and  one  was  secured.  Now  ac- 
cording to  the  law  he  had  to  cut  that  head  off 
with  one  blow  or  go  to  jail  for  five  years.  So  off 
came  the  head  at  the  first  blow. 

The  body  and  head  were  carried  off  by  the 
man's  relatives  and  buried.  When  decomposi- 
tion had  set  in,  a  phosphorescent  light  appeared 
above  the  grave,  a  well-known  and  quite  common 
phenomenon  in  this  dry  climate.  "Behold," 
said  the  bishop  of  the  sect  to  which  the  criminal 
belonged,  "this  man  is  a  saint  and  a  martyr,  for 
the  angels  light  his  grave  by  night." 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       149 

There  is  in  Mosul  an  English  mission  with  a 
school  for  Christian  children  and  a  medical  doctor. 
This  man  affords  the  only  surgical  or  medical 
assistance  that  is  available  in  the  city.  True 
there  is  a  military  hospital,  which  has  been  thrown 
open  to  the  citizens  because  the  soldiers  could 
not  be  got  to  use  it.  When  we  were  there  it  had 
had  six  patients.  Their  experiences  are  eloquently 
set  forth  in  the  pages  of  the  hospital  record  book. 
Each  of  these  is  divided  into  four  columns,  headed, 
"Received,"  "Cured,"  "Died,"  "Ran  Away." 
In  the  first  column  were  six  names,  in  the  second 
none,  in  the  third  two,  and  in  the  fourth  four. 
The  surgeon  in  charge  was  very  conscientious 
about  sterilizing  his  instruments,  which  he  did 
regularly,  removing  them  from  the  boiling  water 
and  wiping  them  carefully  with  a  dirty  rag,  that 
had  once  done  duty  as  an  undershirt. 

Besides  his  work  in  the  city  the  English  doctor  is 
frequently  called  on  by  the  neighbouring  Kurds, 
and  spends  a  part  of  each  summer  travelling  among 
them.  He  told  us  that  the  rule  in  administer- 
ing medicines  is  to  give  five  times  the  regular  dose 
to  a  Kurd,  and  three  times  to  an  Assyrian.  This 
sounds  rather  startling  but  is  readily  compre- 
hensible to  one  who  knows  the  former  race. 
According  to  our  informant  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  poison  one  at  all,  and  even  if  you  succeed  it 
doesn't  much  matter.  But  the  Oriental  is  always 
suspicious  and  one  prominent  sheikh,  who  sent  for 
the  doctor  to  treat  his  eyes,  which  were  afflicted 


150  The  Gate  of  Asia 

with  trachoma,  demanded  that  he  try  the  proposed 
operation  on  a  bystander,  who  was  quite  free  from 
any  trouble.  Unfortunately  the  good  doctor 
is  a  mild  man  and  did  not  see  the  joke,  but  ad- 
ministered less  drastic  treatment,  else  I  might 
have  had  a  better  story  to  tell.  He  told  us  also 
of  some  interesting  native  treatments,  especially 
of  bullet  wounds,  which  are  commonly  plugged 
with  a  mixture  of  cow-dung  and  butter,  stirred 
together  with  a  stick. 

But  treatment  d,  la  Franga  is  gradually  coming 
in  in  Kurdistan,  as  indicated  by  an  experience 
our  host  the  consul  had  with  a  Kurdish  chief. 
This  gentleman,  professing  love  for  all  Britons 
and  British  consuls  in  particular,  sent  him,  on 
his  arrival,  a  goatskin  full  of  cheese.  Presuming 
upon  the  favour  thus  secured  he  sent  later  a 
request  for  what  were,  to  him,  the  prime  necessities 
of  life.  There  were  two  items:  (i)  cartridges 
for  such  and  such  a  revolver;  (2)  medicine  for 
wounds. 

Our  friend  the  consul  had  a  rather  thrilling 
experience  shortly  before  we  arrived,  while  travel- 
ling in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  He  was 
journeying  up  by  Julamerk  to  the  Christian 
centre  of  Kudshanis,  and  stopped  one  night  in  a 
Kurdish  town.  When  he  rose  in  the  morning  to 
leave  he  found  that  the  sacred  rights  of  hospitality 
had  been  violated  and  certain  of  his  goods  un- 
ostentatiously segregated.  He  called  upon  the 
Agha,  the  local  chief,  to  return  them,  and  was 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       151 

rebuffed.  So  he  decided  to  take  something  as 
surety,  and  hit  upon  the  thing  a  Kurd  most  values, 
his  rifle.  Some  of  these  fell  into  the  consul's 
hands  and  he  set  out  with  them,  saying  he  would 
return  them  when  his  missing  packs  were  given 
up. 

Some  distance  from  the  town  the  consul  and  his 
kavass,  a  brave  young  Turk  from  Constantinople, 
were  riding  ahead  and  fell  into  ambush.  A  large 
party  of  Kurds  stepped  from  behind  rocks  and 
demanded  their  arms.  One  of  them  began  to 
wrestle  with  the  kavass  in  an  effort  to  take  away 
the  British  army  rifle  he  carried.  It  got  to  be 
quite  a  fracas  and  the  consul,  being  peaceably 
inclined,  ordered  his  man  to  make  no  further 
resistance.  So  the  Kurd  got  the  rifle,  and  being 
excited  by  his  struggle,  tried  to  shoot  the  consul 
with  it.  He  drew  back  the  bolt,  shot  it  into  place 
again,  pointed  the  arm  at  the  consul,  and  pulled 
the  trigger.  But  this  rifle  has  a  lever  which  locks 
the  cartridges  in  the  magazine,  when  it  is  desired 
to  do  so,  and  this  lever  was  thrown  in.  So  the 
rifle  simply  snapped,  much  to  the  amazement 
of  the  Kurd,  who  set  to  work  to  set  it  right, 
encouraged  by  the  bystanders,  who  appreciated 
the  humour  involved  in  shooting  a  man  with  his 
own  rifle. 

About  this  time  the  consul  had  had  enough, 
and  he  and  the  kavass  drew  their  pistols  and  the 
shooting  began.  It  was  two  men  against  a  score 
and  when  the  pistols  were  empty  there  was  nothing 


152  The  Gate  of  Asia 

for  them  to  do  but  to  wheel  their  horses  and  dash 
up  the  rocky  slope  down  which  they  had  come, 
with  bullets  splitting  on  the  rocks  all  around  them. 
They  succeeded  in  reaching  Kudshanis  in  safety, 
where  they  were  among  Christian  Assyrians, 
deadly  enemies  of  the  Kurds. 

But  before  he  left  the  field  of  battle  the  consul 
had  killed  the  chief  of  his  assailants,  and  they 
began  to  swarm  around  for  vengeance.  For  six 
weeks  the  Englishman  was  cooped  up  in  that 
mountain  town,  and  finally  got  away  by  simply 
announcing  to  the  Kaimakam  of  Julamerk  that 
he  was  going  on  a  certain  day  and  if  he  was  killed 
his  blood  would  be  on  that  gentleman's  head.  As 
a  result  of  this  threat  eight  zaptiehs  were  sent 
him  as  a  guard.  One  of  these  proved  to  be  a 
near  relative  of  the  dead  man,  and  he  tried  his 
best  to  get  the  party  into  the  hands  of  the 
avengers.  But  the  consul  kept  up  a  rapid  pace, 
travelled  by  a  different  route  than  the  one  usu- 
ally taken,  and  got  by  in  safety,  and  so  came 
to  Julamerk,  where  the  Kaimakam  had  to  protect 
him. 

But  the  fun  was  by  no  means  over,  for  his 
friends  dogged  his  steps  all  the  way  to  the  very- 
plain  of  Mosul;  and  he  could  travel  only  with  a 
strong  guard  of  zaptiehs.  With  this  force  he 
came  to  Amadia  where  some  of  his  compatriots,  a 
group  of  missionaries,  were  practically  besieged  by 
another  tribe  of  Kurds.  They  had  a  quarrel  in 
satisfaction  of  which  they  claimed  the  blood  of  an 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       153 

Englishman  and  eight  zaptiehs.  I  am  glad  to  say 
they  did  not  get  it. 

The  Kurds  demanded  five  hundred  Turkish 
pounds  for  their  dead  chief,  which  is  ten  times  the 
usual  price — consuls  usually  have  to  pay  only  from 
two  to  four  times.  The  embassy  wished  to  settle 
the  question  and  ordered  the  consul  to  pay  with 
official  funds.  But  our  good  friend  was  not  to  be 
dragooned  in  that  way,  and  objected  so  violently 
to  admitting  he  was  in  the  wrong  that  he  said  he 
would  resign  before  he  paid,  with  King  George's 
money  or  anybody  else's.  And  there  the  matter 
stood  when  the  story  was  told  to  us. 

Listening  to  such  tales  passed  the  time  very 
quickly  at  Mosul,  and  we  found  it  hard  to  make  our 
preparations  to  leave.  But  it  was  to  travel  among 
such  people  as  these  very  Kurds  that  we  were 
preparing,  and  we  knew  we  had  much  to  look 
forward  to.  So  in  the  reception  room  of  the 
consulate,  with  murder  at  our  front  door  and 
bribery  at  our  back,  we  signed  our  contract  with 
the  muleteers  who  were  to  take  us  into  the  really 
lawless  country  to  the  north. 

Opposite  Mosul,  across  the  composite  bridge, 
are  the  last  vestiges  of  Nineveh,  capital  of  the 
second  of  the  world's  great  empires.  The  great 
walls  of  the  ancient  city  are  still  to  be  traced  in 
places,  built  of  tremendous  masses  of  sun-dried 
brick  laid  on  a  high  broad  wall  of  cut  stone. 
The  city  was  further  protected  by  a  moat  into 
which  the  waters  of  a  small  river  could  be  con- 


154  The  Gate  of  Asia 

ducted.  This  is  also  plain  enough  today,  for  it 
was  hewn  to  a  depth  of  twenty  feet  and  was  fifty 
yards  in  width. 

Two  mighty  mounds,  situated  a  mile  to  the 
east  of  the  river  and  rather  more  than  that  distance 
apart,  contain  the  principal  ruins.  The  more 
northerly  is  called  Koyunjik,  the  Shambles, 
because  here,  a  party  of  Yezidis,  fleeing  from 
Kurdish  persecution  to  take  refuge  in  the  city, 
were  cut  off  by  the  then  unbridged  river,  were 
overtaken,  and  slaughtered. 

In  this  mound  Layard  found  the  remains  of 
Sennacherib's  palace,  built  about  700  B.C.,  and 
carried  away  to  the  British  Museum  its  finest 
trophies  of  Assyrian  art.  He  was  followed  by  the 
equally  thorough  Professor  King,  who  has  left 
nothing  to  be  seen  of  the  old  palace  but  dust  and  a 
single  broken  bas-relief,  destined  no  doubt  to  be 
used  for  mortar  before  long.  iSuch  at  least  was 
the  fate  of  one  of  the  splendid  winged  bulls  left 
behind  by  Layard.  After  its  head  had  been  used 
to  repair  a  mill,  the-vali  is  said  to  have  sold  it 
for  a  mejid  (eighty  cents),  to  be  broken  up  for 
lime. 

The  palace  once  stood  on  the  bank  of  the 
Tigris,  which  made  it  an  impenetrable  fortress  on 
that  side.  But  the  river  that  had  protected  the 
city  for  generations  was  destined  to  cause  its 
downfall,  as  ancient  prophecy  had  predicted. 
This  takes  us  back  to  608  B.C.,  when  King  Sar- 
danapalus  was  defending  the  last  vestiges  of 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       155 

Assyrian  power  against  the  growing  empires  of 
Media  and  Babylonia.  The  allied  armies,  under 
Cyaxares  and  Nabopolassar,  had  already  invested 
his  capital,  when  a  terrible  flood  poured  down  from 
the  snowclad  mountains,  clearly  visible  in  the 
north.  So  unusual  was  the  force  of  the  raging 
current  that  it  undermined  both  banks,  forming 
great  breaches  in  the  city  wall,  and  cutting  many 
channels  to  the  west.  When  the  flood  was  over,  it 
was  in  one  of  these  new  channels  that  the  river 
flowed,  leaving  the  breached  walls  hopelessly 
unprotected. 

The  walls  of  that  gorgeous  palace  of  Sennacherib 
had  more  than  once  been  adorned  with  newly  flayed 
skins,  ripped  from  the  living  bodies  of  Median 
and  Babylonian  kings,  and  Sardanapalus  himself 
had  cruelly  tortured  all  those  unfortunates  that 
had  fallen  into  his  hands.  He  therefore  knew 
that  scant  pity  would  be  shown  him  when  the 
allied  armies  penetrated  his  city.  So  he  ordered 
his  ancestral  palace  to  be  fired  and  he  perished  with 
all  his  wives  and  children  in  one  terrible  holocaust. 

Seventy-five  years  before  that  time  Esarhaddon, 
Sennacherib's  son,  ruled  Assyria.  The  nation 
was  then  at  the  very  height  of  her  glory.  Her 
King,  unlike  his  father,  was  averse  to  cruelty,  and 
inclined  to  patronize  art.  He  rebuilt  Babylon 
which  his  father  had  laid  waste,  and  spent  much 
time  in  that  historic  city. 

After  setting  himself  firmly  on  his  throne  by 
defeating  the  army  of  his  brothers,  and  restoring 


156  The  Gate  of  Asia 

peace  to  the  Empire  by  successful  expeditions  into 
Media,  Arabia,  and  Syria,  he  decided  to  build  a 
palace  in  Nineveh,  and  sent  word  to  all  his  vassals 
to  come  to  that  place  to  do  him  homage.  Twenty- 
two  kings  answered  the  summons,  ten  from 
the  island  of  Cyprus,  and  twelve  from  the  Syrian 
kingdoms,  the  latter  headed  by  Baal  of  Tyre,  and 
Manasseh  of  Judah.  To  assist  their  liege  lord  in 
his  building  they  brought  presents.  From  Leba- 
non came  "great  beams  and  rafters  of  ebony, 
cedar,  and  cypress,"  and  there  were  slabs  of 
alabaster,  "brought  with  labour  and  difficulty 
unto  Nineveh  for  the  adornment  of  the  palace." 
A  careful  record  was  made  of  all  the  gifts,  and  a 
cylinder  has  been  found  giving  a  long  account 
of  the  magnificent  fittings  and  appointments  of  the 
palace. 

All  of  this  splendid  palace  is  hidden  under  the 
southern  mound,  which  has  been  jealously  guarded 
by  Turk  and  native,  because  its  summit  is  crowned 
by  a  village,  in  which  is  the  reputed  tomb  of  Nibi 
Yunis,  the  Prophet  Jonah.  "If,"  say  the  pious 
Moslems,  "you  disturb  the  tomb  of  the  prophet, 
he  will  be  angry  and  we  shall  suffer.  Our  crops 
will  fail  for  lack  of  rain  and  our  cattle  perish  from 
murrains." 

Now  we  know  that  Jonah  was  a  man  of  un- 
certain temper,  and  if  his  tomb  were  really  there, 
we  might  take  some  stock  in  what  is  thus  commonly 
said.  But  we  also  know  that  Jonah's  prophecy 
was  not  fulfilled,  so  the  last  place  we  might  expect 


Mosul,  the  Modern  Nineveh       157 

to  find  his  tomb  is  on  the  very  summit  of  Nineveh's 
ruins. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  know  that  the  mosque 
of  Nibi  Yunis  was  originally  a  Nestorian  church, 
dating  from  the  days  of  the  Kalifate,  when  that 
body  of  Christians  had  an  independent  Patriarch 
at  Mosul.  The  tomb  it  contains  is  of  one  of  the 
last  to  hold  that  office,  Mar  John  the  Lame,  who 
died  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Life  was  doubt- 
less hard  for  the  good  saint  during  his  lifetime, 
and  it  is  doubtless  not  without  a  touch  of  irony  that 
he  receives  the  pious  prayers  of  the  Moslem  de- 
scendants of  those  who  persecuted  him  centuries 
ago.  But  the  tradition  has  taken  no  uncertain 
root  in  the  minds  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  Mosul, 
and  the  tomb  of  Mar  John  comes  in  for  equal 
respect  from  Christians  and  Jews,  as  well  as  from 
Moslems. 

Meanwhile  the  finest  of  all  Assyrian  palaces  lies 
buried  beneath  a  miserable  Turkish  village.  Only 
one  object  has  ever  been  unearthed  so  far  as  we 
know,  a  pair  of  bronze  oxen,  found  in  the  bottom 
of  the  mosque  well.  These  effigies  of  living 
things,  anathema  to  the  fierce  monotheism  of  the 
modern  Semitic  world,  were  promptly  melted 
down,  and  now  adorn  the  windows  of  a  Mosul 
house  in  the  form  of  gratings. 

Some  day  let  us  hope  the  power  of  superstition 
will  be  sufficiently  broken  to  allow  an  exploration 
of  the  wonders  of  what  is  now  Turkey's  most 
valuable  hidden  treasure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
"THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS" 

Ty'URDISTAN  is  a  name  of  no  very  definite 
1  v  meaning,  for,  though  a  geographical  term, 
it  has  no  accurate  territorial  application.  Roughly 
it  is  applied  to  the  Zagros  Mountains,  that  lie 
between  the  basins  of  the  great  salt  lakes  of  Van 
and  Urmi  and  the  plains  of  Mesopotamia.  On 
account  of  their  ruggedness  and  impenetrability 
these  highlands  have  ever  been  a  most  important 
ethnic  boundary,  separating  not  only  empires, 
but  races.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  no  Semitic 
power  has  ever  permanently  conquered  the  valleys 
beyond  them.  Nor  has  any  invading  army  ever 
entered  the  Tigris-Euphrates  basin — the  home  of 
the  Semites — from  the  other  side  of  their  massive 
wall,  although  time  after  time  invading  hordes 
have  passed  into  Asia  Minor  through  the  valleys 
of  Armenia. 

At  the  dawn  of  history  we  find  two  great  empires 
growing  up,  one  after  the  other,  on  each  side  of  the 
Zagros.  The  first  of  these  was  Assyria,  a  Semitic 
empire,  centring  about  the  great  plain  of  Nineveh. 
Under  such  kings  as  Tiglath-Pileser  I.  (noo  B.c.)» 

158 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  159 

Shalmaneser  II.  (860),  and  the  Sargonids — Sargon 
(722)  to  Asshurbanipal  (668) — they  spread  their 
kingdom  all  over  the  great  basin  south  of  the 
mountains,  from  Chaldasa  to  Egypt.  In  606 
their  capital  city  of  Nineveh  fell  before  the  Baby- 
lonians, who  were  soon  succeeded  by  the  Persians, 
who  came  from  the  East.  These  in  turn  yielded 
to  the  Macedonians  who  came  from  the  West,  who 
were  followed  by  Roman,  Parthian,  and  Byzan- 
tine. Then  came  the  Sassanid  Persians  from  the 
East  (260  A.D.),  inaugurating  a  long  series  of  wars 
over  the  possession  of  what  had  originally  been  the 
heart  of  Assyria.  Fleeing  from  these  conflicts 
many  of  the  people  of  that  land  retired  into  the 
mountains,  taking  with  them  the  religion  of  their 
Western  conquerors  which  had  by  that  time  spread 
all  over  the  Near  East. 

This  Christian  connection  kept  them  in  com- 
munication with  the  cities,  especially  Nineveh  or 
Mosul,  which  were  the  residences  of  the  higher 
clergy.  So  when  the  Mohammedan  invasion 
began  in  the  seventh  century  there  remained 
a  close  sympathy  between  the  Assyrians  of  the 
mountains  and  those  of  the  plains,  and  many  of 
the  latter  joined  their  fellows,  seeking  freedom  from 
religious  persecution.  Among  these  was  the  Patri- 
arch (or  Archbishop)  of  Mosul,  who  fled  to  the  very 
heart  of  Kurdistan,  and  whose  descendant  remains 
today  the  spiritual  head  of  the  mountain  Assyrians. 

Although  these  people  belong  to  the  older  empire 
they  were  not  the  earlier  occupants  of  the  moun- 


160  The  Gate  of  Asia 

tains.  When  such  powerful  kings  as  Tiglath-  Pile- 
ser  I.  and  Asshurbanipal  penetrated  the  mountains 
to  Lake  Van,  they  had  to  fight  their  way  through 
fierce  tribes  of  mountaineers  whom  the}7  called 
Nairi.  They  were  small  independent  clans,  at- 
tacking all  who  dared  penetrate  their  country 
and  fleeing  "like  birds"  into  the  inmost  recesses 
of  their  hills  when  attacked  by  a  superior  force. 
These  people  were  never  subdued  nor  were  their 
relatives  beyond  the  Zagros  conquered.  Finally 
a  number  of  these  tribes  were  brought  together, 
and  under  the  powerful  Cyaxares  was  formed 
the  Median  empire,  with  its  capital  at  Hamadan 
(Ecbatana),  including  what  is  now  western  Persia 
and  spreading  as  far  as  Asia  Minor.  In  a  short 
time  this  empire  was  broken  up  by  a  closely  related 
group  of  tribes  farther  south,  the  Persians.  Under 
Cyrus  the  Great  most  of  the  Median  tribes  were 
united  with  the  Persians,  but  others  remained  in 
their  mountain  strongholds,  and  others  returned  to 
their  old  homes  after  following  Cyrus  and  Darius 
in  their  careers  of  conquest. 

Because  of  the  repeated  invasions  of  their  centre, 
the  Urmi  basin,  most  of  the  Median  tribes  have 
had  to  take  refuge  in  the  mountains,  but  there  are 
still  many  in  Persia,  south  of  Lake  Urmi  and  in 
the  district  of  Kermanshah.  Today  they  are 
called  Kurds,  a  name  that  is  so  old  that  we  cannot 
clearly  trace  its  origin,  and  have  given  their  name 
to  the  country  of  the  Zagros,  Kurdistan — the  land 
of  the  Kurds. 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  161 

These  mountaineers  were  never  really  Christian- 
ized although  not  a  few  tribes  professed  that 
religion  to  some  extent.  Consequently  they 
offered  fertile  ground  for  the  spread  of  the  more 
vigorous  teachings  of  Mohammed,  and  the  whole 
race  today  professes  Islam.  They  are  essentially 
an  Aryan  people  and  speak  a  distinct  language — 
not  merely  a  dialect  of  Persian  as  has  often  been 
stated — divided  into  several  nearly  related  dia- 
lects. Unfortunately  it  has  been  little  studied, 
but  those  who  know  it  agree  that  it  is  a  complete 
tongue,  having  rich  grammatical  forms  and  a 
distinct  syntax,  and  that  it  is  quite  free  from 
Semitic  words  such  as  have  been  adopted  into 
Persian,  enriching  it,  but  replacing  older  Aryan 
forms.  It  is  a  harsher,  more  rugged  language 
than  Persian,  which  is  generally  admitted  to  be 
the  most  euphonious  of  Aryan  tongues.  The 
Mukri  Kurds  who  inhabit  Suj  Bulak,  south  of 
Urmi,  and  neighbouring  parts  of  Persian  Kurdistan, 
are  credited  with  speaking  the  purest  Kurdish, 
or  Kermanji  as  it  is  also  called.  But  wide  dia- 
lectic variation  exists  on  account  of  the  tribal 
differences,  the  inaccessible  nature  of  the  lands 
of  some  tribes,  and  the  lack  of  any  widespread 
literature. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  there  was  no  liter- 
ature at  all,  and  no  written  language.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  this  is  grossly  unfair.  Not  long  ago,  and  as 
early  as  the  sixteenth  century,  there  was  a  college 
and  school  of  philosophy  at  Bayazid,  in  the  shadow 


1 62  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  Mt.  Ararat,  where  the  students  were  Kurds 
and  their  language  the  chief  subject  of  study.  Its 
founder,  Ahmed  Khan,  left  several  works  of  history, 
philosophy,  and  poetry.  Suleimanieh  also  has 
been  a  Kurdish  literary  centre  famous  for  its  poets, 
who  have  left  voluminous  works  largely  in  the 
Persian  style.  There  is,  besides,  further  written 
material,  a  great  body  of  folk-lore,  chiefly  poetical, 
which  may  be  heard  in  any  town  or  village  at 
night.  I  have  often  listened  with  pleasure  to  the 
merry  songs  of  the  wildest  of  the  mountaineers, 
and  the  translations  I  have  seen  have  shown  them 
to  be  so  full  of  feeling  and  beauty,  and  so  rich  in 
figure  and  mythological  allusions,  as  really  to  be 
worthy  to  rank  with  the  most  finished  Persian 
poetry  as  an  expression  of  the  national  taste. 

The  Kurdish  character  has  been  much  maligned. 
The  people  have  been  described  over  and  over 
as  abandoned  scoundrels,  barbarians  of  the  most 
rapacious  descriptions,  savages  to  whom  blood- 
letting is  a  pastime,  and  all  manner  of  brutality 
a  matter  of  daily  custom.  A  Persian  writer 
describes  their  nature  in  the  words:  "Shedders  of 
blood,  raisers  of  strife,  seekers  after  turmoil  and 
uproar,  robbers  and  brigands."  But  he  has  to 
admit  later  that  they  are  "a  brave  race,  fearless, 
of  a  hospitality  grateful  to  the  soul,  in  truth  and 
honor  unequalled,  of  pleasing  countenance  and 
fair  cheek. "  This  is  really  a  very  good  summing 
up  of  their  character.  The  former  characteristics 
are  the  ones  that  get  out  and  are  repeated,  the 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  163 

latter  are  manifest  only  to  those  who  journey 
among  them. 

Most  of  the  Kurds  whose  acquaintance  we 
made  were  most  kindly  in  their  treatment  of  us, 
hospitable  to  a  degree,  always  jolly,  generous,  and 
so  little  inclined  to  theft  or  covetousness  as  often 
to  refuse  gifts  offered  in  return  for  food  or  lodging. 
They  are  noted  for  a  faithfulness  to  all  obligations, 
an  affection  for  near  relatives  which  is  rare  in 
the  East,  where  fratricide  has  always  been  common, 
a  manlier  treatment  of  women  than  that  of  any 
other  Moslem  people,  a  willingness  to  sacrifice 
personal  interests  for  those  of  the  tribe,  and  an 
admirable  pride  of  race  which  shows  itself  in  a 
frank  and  open  bearing.  Although  professors  of 
Islam,  polygamy  is  unheard  of,  prostitution  does 
not  exist,  and  adultery  is  instantly  punished  by 
death.  The  women  do  not  share  the  restrictions 
imposed  upon  their  more  civilized  sisters  among 
the  Arabs  and  Persians.  They  are  never  veiled 
but  go  about  as  freely  as  the  men,  except  that  in 
the  larger  towns  they  do  not  go  to  the  bazaar, 
but  leave  the  marketing  to  the  male  members  of 
their  household.  Like  the  men  they  are  cheerful, 
hard-working,  and  blessed  with  a  sturdy  upright 
carriage. 

However  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  Kurdish 
character  leaves  much  to  be  desired,  especially  in 
the  north.  With  those  not  of  his  own  race,  the 
Kurd  is  tyrannical  and  cruel.  Brigandage  is  often 
his  chief  means  of  livelihood,  and  that  never  was  an 


1 64  The  Gate  of  Asia 

occupation  calculated  to  improve  character.  The 
tribes  on  the  frontier  especially  have  developed 
a  great  reputation  for  duplicity,  adopting  many 
clever  stratagems  to  escape  the  wrath  of  the  gov- 
ernments whose  borders  they  alternately  ravish. 
This  life,  to  which,  it  must  in  fairness  be  admitted, 
most  of  them  have  been  driven  by  the  tyranny 
of  the  very  governments  they  now  plunder,  has 
weaned  them  from  the  steady  habits  of  the  culti- 
vator, and  led  them  to  depend  mostly  upon  horse 
and  rifle,  plot  and  counterplot,  to  wrest  a  living 
from  their  neighbours.  But  however  cruel  and 
unscrupulous  they  may  become,  these  professional 
robbers  are  always  generous  and  hospitable  to 
those  they  look  upon  as  friends. 

Quick-tempered  the  Kurd  undoubtedly  is,  prone 
to  draw  his  knife,  and  not  infrequently  led  to  use 
it.  His  keen  sense  of  humour  fortunately  tem- 
pers this  quality.  I  have  seen  two  men  face  each 
other  with  drawn  weapons,  who,  a  moment  be- 
fore, had  been  dancing  together,  and  then  burst 
out  into  guffaws  of  laughter  at  the  remark  of  a  by- 
stander, replacing  their  knives  in  perfect  amity. 

Toughness  and  an  unusual  tenacity  of  life  are 
characteristic  of  most  mountaineers,  and  of  Kurds 
as  much  as  any  others.  An  ordinary  dose  of 
medicine  will  do  them  no  good  and  they  can 
survive  an  overdose  that  would  kill  several  Euro- 
peans. An  English  missionary  tells  of  finding  in  a 
mountain  village  a  Kurd  who  seemed  to  be  at 
death's  door.  He  had  applied  to  a  Christian 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  165 

neighbour  who  claimed  to  be  a  hakim,  a  physician, 
on  the  strength  of  a  few  weeks'  experience  in  an 
American  mission  dispensary.  Inquiry  revealed 
that  this  gentleman  had  administered  croton  oil, 
"not  much;  only  a  teaspoonful. "  Now  half  a 
minim  is  the  maximum  dose  in  the  West,  and  a 
Kurd  might  be  expected  to  survive  several  times 
as  much.  That  he  could  survive  a  teaspoonful 
no  one  could  be  expected  to  believe.  But  he  did. 

The  amount  of  lead  that  these  fellows  can  carry 
off  is  remarkable.  I  have  seen  scars  on  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  some  of  them  from  wounds  that 
it  would  seem  must  have  proved  fatal  to  any  one 
really  human.  A  story  is  told  in  the  mountains  of 
a  man  who  was  shot  through  the  body  in  a  tribal 
skirmish.  He  came  home  to  his  wife  and  com- 
plained that  he  had  gotten  two  new  holes  in  his 
shirt,  and  would  have  to  have  it  washed  besides. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  many  secure  a 
reputation  for  being  proof  against  shot  and  steel. 
A  British  vice-consul  at  Van  made  a  great  name 
for  himself  several  years  ago  when  he  succeeded  in 
killing  one  of  these  men,  who  was  leading  an 
attack  against  him.  He  shot  him  twice  in  the 
head  and  also  through  both  lungs,  but  the  man 
lived  for  five  days,  although  any  one  of  the  three 
wounds  should  have  been  almost  instantly  fatal  by 
all  rules  of  precedent. 

Great  differences  exist  among  the  Kurds  accord- 
ing to  their  mode  of  life.  The  least  admirable  and 
least  known  are  the  purely  nomadic  tribes  who  live 


1 66  The  Gate  of  Asia 

always  in  black  tents  of  coarse  goat's  hair,  and 
pasture  their  sheep  in  the  plains  in  winter  and  in 
the  higher  valleys  and  their  neighbouring  slopes 
in  summer.  These  people  are  at  constant  war  with 
those  whose  valleys  they  pass  through  and  with 
the  government,  whose  agents  hold  them  up  yearly 
in  true  highwayman  style  to  "lift"  the  aghnam, 
or  sheep  tax,  together  with  such  perquisites  as 
the  tax-gatherers  may  have  force  enough  to  exact. 
Consequently  their  hand  is  against  every  man, 
and  every  man's  hand  against  them.  The  seden- 
tary Kurds  of  the  mountain  villages  are  the  best 
lot  in  my  experience,  for  they  are  not  professional 
plunderers  like  their  kinsmen  on  the  Persian 
frontier,  though  they  often  do  indulge  in  razzias 
against  their  neighbours,  especially  the  Christians. 
The  bandit  tribes  on  the  frontier  are  the  most 
tyrannous  and  the  most  hospitable,  the  cruellest, 
but  the  proudest  and  most  generous.  They  should 
not  be  judged  by  the  standards  of  today,  but  by 
those  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Their  code  of  ethics  is 
that  of  a  Scottish  borderer,  or  a  Rhenish  robber 
baron. 

As  recently  as  the  last  quarter  of  the  past 
century  there  were  many  powerful  Kurdish  chiefs 
who  were  practically  independent  and  paid  no 
tribute  to  the  Hukumet,  the  Turkish  Government. 
This  state  of  affairs  was  done  away  with  in  Turkey 
by  Abdul-Hamid,  the  great  centralizer.  One  of 
the  means  he  adopted  to  accomplish  his  end  was 
the  formation  of  the  Kurds  into  irregular  cavalry 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  167 

brigades  called  after  his  own  name  Hamidie. 
These  could  be  conveniently  used  against  each 
other,  against  the  Christians  whom  Abdul-Hamid 
always  feared,  or  as  a  bulwark  in  case  of  aggression 
on  the  part  of  Russia  or  Persia.  To  make  them 
effective  excellent  rifles  were  poured  into  their 
country  arid  eagerly  snapped  up  by  the  tribesmen, 
who  are  now  almost  universally  provided  with 
breech-loading  rifles.  German  Mausers  are  com- 
monest in  the  north,  but  Martinis  and  Snyders 
are  to  be  seen  commonly  in  the  south,  where  the 
former  pattern  is  often  imitated  by  the  native 
gunsmiths.  The  taxes  are  regularly  exacted  from 
the  more  powerful  clans  in  the  form  of  tribute,  a 
tribe  that  dares  to  refuse  being  coerced  by  its 
neighbours  acting  in  conjunction  with  Turkish 
troops,  all  of  whom  have  to  have  a  share  of  the 
spoil.  This  method  is  shockingly  wasteful,  but 
not  nearly  so  much  so  as  the  system  of  making 
the  Christians  bear  the  principal  burden  of  taxa- 
tion, one  of  the  worst  results  of  the  Hamidian 
policies. 

The  Christians  are  mostly  cultivators  and  suffer 
greatly  from  the  united  oppression  of  the  Kurds 
and  the  Hukumet.  They  are  members  of  the 
Eastern  Church  which  once  spread  all  over  Asiatic 
Turkey  and  Persia,  and  sent  missionaries  to  India 
and  China.  This  church  was  split  up  by  the  desire 
of  various  national  bodies,  as  the  Armenians, 
Syrians,  and  Egyptians,  to  throw  off  the  spiritual 
domination  of  the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople. 


i68  The  Gate  of  Asia 

These  bodies  adopted  any  heresy  that  was  con- 
venient, not  for  doctrinal  reasons,  but  as  a  protest 
against  Greek  oppression.  When  the  Moslem  in- 
vasion began  they  welcomed  Mohammedan  rule 
as  a  means  of  freeing  themselves  from  the  persecu- 
tion of  their  fellow-Christians,  and  when  the  Turk 
came  he  adopted  the  Arab  plan  of  recognizing 
these  Christian  bodies  as  subject  millets,  allowing 
each  its  own  clergy,  under  a  Patriarch  who  was 
and  is  responsible  directly  to  the  Sultan.  Multipli- 
cation of  these  millets  is  rather  encouraged  than 
otherwise,  on  the  principle  that  the  smaller  the 
body  the  weaker  it  is. 

As  a  result  we  have  in  Kurdistan  today  four 
distinct  Syrian  churches,  not  to  mention  Syrian 
Protestants,  evangelized  by  English  and  American 
missionaries.  Up  in  the  high  valleys,  north  and 
east  of  Mosul,  is  the  headquarters  of  the  Nestorian 
church,  the  last  independent  remnant  of  the  old 
Chaldaean  church  of  Sassanian  times  to  which 
Nestorius  fled  after  his  condemnation  by  the 
Council  of  Ephesus  in  431.  He  was  by  no  means 
the  founder  of  that  church,  which  in  his  time  was 
nearly  two  centuries  old,  but  became  so  identified 
with  it  that  it  came  to  be  known  by  his  name. 

It  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  rugged  clans- 
men, living  in  the  gorges  of  the  Great  Zab  and  its 
tributaries.  They  are  cultivators  and  shepherds, 
living  exactly  like  the  Kurds  whose  dress  they  have 
adopted,  and  against  whom  they  are  quite  able  to 
hold  their  own  under  ordinary  conditions.  Like 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  169 

the  Kurds  they  are  broken  up  into  tribes  that 
frequently  fight  each  other,  carrying  on  long  blood 
feuds,  which  are  laid  aside  at  times  to  withstand 
the  attack  of  Moslem  enemies. 

They  have  an  hereditary  Patriarch  who  bears 
the  title  of  Mar  Shimun  [St.  Peter],  and  makes  the 
same  claim  to  spiritual  infallibility  as  does  the 
Pope  of  Rome.  He  lives  at  Kochannes,  far  up  in 
the  Zab  valley  where  his  tribesmen  are  well  able  to 
protect  him  from  the  Kurds.  He  is  a  most  pictur- 
esque figure,  a  sort  of  Prester  John,  upholding 
the  symbol  of  the  Cross  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
lands  in  which  the  kalifs  spread  the  worship  of 
the  Prophet  thirteen  centuries  ago. 

His  ancient  title,  Catholicos  of  the  East,  takes 
us  back  to  the  days  of  the  Sassanian  Empire,  when 
the  Chaldasan  Christians,  subjects  of  that  dynasty, 
separated  from  the  Syrian  church.  Their  Catho- 
licos, or  Archbishop,  resided  at  the  national  capital 
of  Ctesiphon,  and  often  possessed  great  influence 
over  the  Persian  emperor,  who,  however,  always 
professed  outwardly  his  national  religion,  the 
teachings  of  Zarathustra  (Zoroaster).  When  the 
Kalifate  was  established  at  Bagdad,  the  Catholicos 
moved  to  Mosul,  where,  under  the  title  of  Patri- 
arch he  continued  to  exercise  spiritual  jurisdiction 
over  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Syrian  church.  At 
the  time  of  the  Mongol  conquest  under  Tamerlane 
he  was  persecuted  and  forced  to  flee  to  the  moun- 
tains, where  the  scattered  flock  became  separated 
and  elected  two  patriarchs,  one  residing  at  Ko- 


170  The  Gate  of  Asia 

channes,  and  the  other  at  Rabban  Hormizd,  near 
Mosul.  In  later  times,  the  latter  submitted  to 
Rome  and  recognized  the  authority  of  the  Pope. 
But  Mar  Shimun  remains  today  the  independent 
successor  of  the  proud  Catholicos  of  the  East. 

Before  the  days  of  Abdul-Hamid  there  was  a 
definite  understanding  between  the  Kurdish  and 
Nestorian  tribes.  The  latter  were  outnumbered 
but  had  strong  positions  to  defend,  and  arms  were 
equal.  The  rule  was  that  the  raider,  whether 
Moslem  or  Christian,  took  all  he  could  carry  away 
but  damaged  nothing  he  left  behind,  and  above  all 
things  he  respected  the  persons  and  freedom  of 
women.  Live-stock,  furniture,  and  arms  were  fair 
plunder;  but  houses  were  not  to  be  burned  nor  were 
standing  crops  touched  or  irrigating  works  tam- 
pered with.  Indeed,  it  was  generally  understood 
that  no  gentleman  would  break  even  his  worst 
enemy's  granary. 

But  the  late  Sultan  aimed  to  destroy  the  Chris- 
tians, whom  he  looked  upon  as  a  source  of  weak- 
ness and  danger,  and  he  so  far  succeeded  that  these 
old  rules  have  been  practically  forgotten.  The 
formation  of  the  Hamidie  regiments  and  the 
provision  of  modern  rifles  for  the  Kurds,  while 
the  Nestorians  could  secure  only  flint-locks,  has 
weighted  the  balance  strongly  in  favour  of  the  for- 
mer. Furthermore  they  have  been  taught  not 
only  to  plunder,  but  to  destroy:  villages  are  now 
razed,  crops  burned,  trees  girdled,  and  women 
violated  and  led  into  captivity.  But  still  the 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains'*  171 

Christians  are  often  able  to  hold  their  own,  and 
even  at  times  to  take  vengeance  on  their  oppres- 
sors. Though  they  are  often  armed  with  nothing 
better  than  flint-locks,  and  can  secure  no  powder 
except  what  they  make  at  home  from  materials 
gathered  in  their  own  mountains,  they  come  of  a 
fine  old  fighting  stock  that  once  spread  the  fear  of 
the  Assyrian  arms  to  Africa  and  Asia  Minor. 

The  Semitic  origin  of  these  people  is  clearly 
betrayed  by  their  physiognomy,  which  is  strikingly 
like  that  portrayed  on  the  Assyrian  reliefs.  But 
they  exhibit  other  well-known  characteristics  of 
their  race,  notably  business  acumen.  Shut  up  in 
their  little  mountain  cantons  they  find  little  chance 
for  practice;  but  they  are  great  wanderers.  It  is 
not  rare  to  find  men  who  have  relatives  in  America, 
and  others  have  spent  years  heaving  coal  on  a 
transatlantic  liner  or  laying  ties  on  a  Russian 
railway.  An  English  missionary,  sitting  in  the 
presence  of  Mar  Shimun  himself,  was  explaining 
the  progress  of  the  Japanese  war.  When  he  came 
to  Port  Arthur  he  was  politely  but  firmly  inter- 
rupted by  one  of  the  bystanders,  who  explained, 
in  technical  language,  the  arrangements  of  the 
forts  at  that  place,  which  the  Englishman  had 
confused.  He  admitted  having  been  employed  in 
building  those  forts. 

But  the  most  typical  employment  of  these 
followers  of  Prester  John  is  more  characteristically 
Semitic.  They  have  discovered  that  kind-hearted 
Americans  are  easily  prevailed  upon  to  make  gifts 


172  The  Gate  of  Asia 

to  their  struggling  church,  and  go  about  raising 
money  for  "schools  and  orphanages."  Many 
grow  quite  rich  in  this  way — according  to  local 
standards — and  one  man  actually  brought  $15,000 
back  to  within  a  few  miles  of  his  native  valley, 
where  he  was  robbed  of  his  last  cent  by  a  delighted 
party  of  Kurds. 

Like  their  Moslem  neighbours  these  people  ought 
not  to  be  judged  according  to  Western  ideals. 
Oriental  charity  is  altogether  selfish.  Alms  are 
given  for  the  benefit  of  the  giver,  who  does  not 
trouble  himself  to  what  use  his  money  is  put,  but 
looks  upon  the  recipient  as  a  convenience  through 
whom  he  is  enabled  to  acquire  merit.  So  these 
mountain  men  cannot  understand  why  the  chari- 
table should  care  whether  the  money  goes  to 
schools  and  orphanages  or  not.  According  to  Eas- 
tern ideas  the  Lord  will  not  reward  them  the  less 
for  their  charity  if  the  money  is  used  rather  for 
the  comfort  of  the  collector.  Furthermore  a  gift 
is  a  gift  to  the  Oriental,  to  whom  the  conception 
of  a  trust  is  unknown.  What  you  give  him 
he  looks  upon  as  his,  and  once  his  he  alone  has 
any  right  to  dispose  of  it. 

Beside  this  independent  "Nestorian"  church  in 
the  defiles  of  the  mountains,  there  is  the  larger 
and  better  known  "Chaldaean"  church,  the  branch 
of  the  once  united  body  that  submitted  to  Rome. 
At  the  time  of  the  Turkish  conquest  of  Kurdistan 
Roman  Catholic  missionaries  began  to  work  among 
the  Christians  of  the  plains  and  foothills,  and  sue- 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  173 

ceeded  in  persuading  many  to  recognize  the  Pope 
and  to  so  alter  their  tenets  as  not  to  be  absolutely 
irreconcilable  with  those  of  Rome.  Their  success 
was  due  largely  to  their  promises  of  protection 
from  Turkish  persecution,  and  to  offers  of  educa- 
tional opportunities.  Those  who  refused  to  accept 
their  domination  were  abandoned  to  Moslem 
persecution  and  refused  admission  to  the  mission- 
ary schools.  If  the  stories  told  by  eye-witnesses 
are  true,  their  methods  were  unscrupulous  and 
shameful.  As  early  as  the  sixteenth  century  they 
appointed  a  Patriarch  at  Diyarbekr  and  by  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  they  had  brought  all 
the  Chaldaeans  in  Turkey  under  their  domination 
except  those  who  lived  in  the  then  impenetrable 
country  of  the  Kurds. 

The  church  thus  formed  was  termed  Uniat 
Chaldasan  or  Uniat  Nestorian,  but  is  commonly 
termed  simply  Chaldasan.  It  differs  only  slightly 
from  the  original  form  and  still  retains  the  old 
communion.  Confession  is  not  required,"  transub- 
stantiation  and  Purgatory  do  not  form  part  of  the 
creed,  and  images  are  not  exhibited  in  the  churches. 
Both  elements  are  administered  to  communicants, 
and  the  secular  clergy  are  permitted  to  marry  as 
was  universal  in  early  times  even  in  Europe. 
There  is  also  a  celibated  clergy  who  are  ascetics 
and  may  or  may  not  live  in  monastic  institutions. 
From  their  ranks  the  higher  dignitaries,  bishops, 
etc.,  are  chosen,  for  these  prelates  are  not  per- 
mitted to  marry.  This  is  a  very  strange  departure 


174  The  Gate  of  Asia 

from  the  usually  strict  canons  of  the  Roman 
Church,  but  it  is  followed  also  in  the  case  of  the 
Syrian  Catholics  or  Uniat  Jacobites,  who  while 
uniting  with  Rome,  refuse  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  those  who  inherit  the  taint  of  the 
heretical  Nestorius,  whose  tenets  their  church 
exists  to  deny. 

The  head  of  the  Uniat  Chaldasan  church  and  a 
Uniat  Jacobite  bishop  reside  at  Mosul  today. 
They  are  both  Roman  Catholic  bishops,  and  we 
have  the  apparent  anomaly  of  two  episcopal  heads 
in  one  see.  As  if  this  were  not  sufficient  it  is  also 
the  residence  of  an  Apostolic  Delegate,  or  Papal 
Legate,  who  is  the  general  superior  of  all  the 
Roman  Catholic  bishops  in  Mesopotamia,  but 
exercises  direct  spiritual  jurisdiction  only  over 
the  European  monks  of  the  neighbourhood  and 
such  other  Europeans  of  the  Latin  rite  as  business 
or  duty  may  bring  into  his  diocese. 

The  Chaldaeans  are  not  generally  so  well  off  as 
their  Nestorian  brethren,  except  in  the  cities 
and  in  the  case  of  a  few  large  village  communities 
near  them.  They  are  almost  exclusively  culti- 
vators, for  their  sheep  and  cattle  have  all  been 
run  off  by  the  neighbouring  Kurds.  Their  status 
is  not  that  of  ashirets,  semi-autonomous  tribes 
paying  tribute  like  the  Kurds,  but  the  far  inferior 
position  of  rayats  or  serfs.  In  the  remoter  districts 
they  are  actually  subject  to  the  Kurds,  who  take 
the  best  of  their  produce  every  year.  They  often 
spend  the  winter  in  the  Christian  villages,  com- 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  175 

pelling  the  miserable  inhabitants  to  feed  their 
masters'  flocks  on  the  grain  while  they  have 
nothing  but  the  bran.  The  suffering  of  the  women 
at  the  hands  of  such  brutal  masters  is  impossible 
to  describe. 

This  condition  of  affairs  is  worst  in  the  Bohtan 
valleys,  to  the  west  of  the  country  occupied  by  the 
Nestorians.  There  a  powerful  combination  of 
Kurdish  chiefs  follow  a  tradition  of  barbarous 
persecution  established  by  the  notorious  Bader 
Khan  Bey,  who,  in  1895,  at  the  instigation  of  Abdul- 
Hamid,  perpetrated  a  horrible  series  of  massacres, 
leading  his  men  in  jehad  (holy  war)  into  the  heart 
of  the  Nestorian  country,  where  he  sacked  Ko- 
channes  itself,  forcing  Mar  Shimun  to  take  refuge 
in  Persia.  In  this  country  the  Christian  villagers 
are  reduced  to  the  last  extremity  of  physical  and 
moral  degradation.  So  effectively  have  their 
priests  been  hounded  out  that  few  dare  claim  that 
dignity,  and  those  that  do  are  so  uninstructed 
that  they  cannot  even  repeat  the  service.  The 
people  complain  that,  though  called  Christians, 
they  know  not  whom  they  worship,  nor  the  signifi- 
cance of  their  own  name.  As  recently  as  January, 
1909,  during  the  disturbances  at  Mosul,  there 
was  a  terrible  massacre  of  villagers  to  the  very 
walls  of  Sairt,  where  the  Christians  of  the  city 
barred  their  doors  and  windows  and  in  some  cases 
starved  lest  they  share  the  fate  of  their  rural 
co-religionists.  The  combined  influence  of  the 
local  Dominicans  and  the  better  class  of  Moslem 


1 76  The  Gate  of  Asia 

townspeople  however  succeeded  in  preventing  any 
slaughter  within  the  city.  But  no  one  will  ever 
know  how  many  individuals  were  slaughtered  in 
the  hills.  When  we  passed  through  that  country 
four  years  later  the  chiefs,  called  locally  Emirs,  were 
in  open  revolt,  and  great  fear  was  felt  for  the  safety 
of  the  poor  rayats.  The  fall  of  Monastir  had  just 
become  known  and  crowds  of  Moslem  women  were 
mourning  in  the  cemeteries  outside  of  Sairt.  But 
fortunately  the  fear  of  an  outbreak  of  religious  fan- 
aticism was  not  realized  and  we  heard  of  nothing 
more  than  the  usual  oppression. 

The  Turkish  custom  in  raising  the  internal 
revenue  is  to  handle  the  powerful  with  gloves, 
and  exact  the  last  metalik  from  the  oppressed. 
This  iniquitous  system  doubles  the  burden  that 
must  be  borne  by  the  rayats,  whose  masters  are 
glad  enough  to  pay  a  tenth  or  twelfth  of  their 
tribute  and  let  the  tax-collectors  bleed  the  rest  from 
the  subject  villagers.  Nor  is  this  all  they  suffer. 
When  two  chiefs  fall  out  and  dare  not  attack  each 
other  they  adopt  the  happy  alternative  of  plunder- 
ing each  his  enemy's  rayats,  slaying,  burning,  and 
carrying  captive. 

But  even  under  such  terrible  persecution  these 
poor  people — Chaldseans  and  Nestorians — never 
fail  to  cling  to  their  faith.  A  striking  incident  of 
such  faithfulness  came  to  the  notice  of  a  member  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  mission  to  the 
Nestorians  a  short  time  ago.  A  deacon  of  that 
church  stopped  in  the  village  of  Shernakh,  thirty 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  177 

miles  from  Sairt,  lodging  according  to  custom  in 
the  chief's  house.  When  he  had  supped  a  servant 
summoned  him  to  attend  the  lady  of  the  house. 
In  great  surprise  he  followed  the  messenger.  He 
was  led  into  the  presence  of  an  old  woman  who 
fairly  wept  with  joy  at  sight  of  him,  the  first 
Christian  she  had  seen  during  sixty  years  of 
captivity.  She  had  been  taken  captive  in  the 
great  raid  of  1845  and  been  made  a  scullion  in  the 
house  of  her  master.  By  sheer  force  of  character 
and  personal  honesty  she  had  raised  herself  to  the 
position  of  mistress  of  the  house,  to  which  all 
agreed  she  had  been  a  blessing.  Nor  had  she 
relaxed  her  Christian  observance  during  all  the 
years  of  her  captivity  in  the  house  of  a  Moslem, 
but  carefully  observed  all  the  fasts  of  her  church 
and  kept  the  Sabbath  in  the  strict  manner  of  her 
sect.  Having  secured  from  the  deacon  a  morsel 
of  bread  blessed  at  the  Eucharist,  without  which 
no  Syrian  Christian  sets  out  on  a  journey,  she  bade 
him  adieu,  confident  of  possessing  the  blessing  of 
the  Church  against  the  time  when  her  soul  should 
be  required  of  her. 

In  the  lower  valleys  the  condition  of  the  ray  at 
population  is  decidedly  better,  but  they  are  still 
the  prey  of  Kurds  and  Turkish  officials,  except 
in  the  very  largest  villages  near  the  cities.  Such 
a  village  is  that  of  Tel  Kaif ,  one  of  the  earliest  to 
adopt  the  Roman  allegiance.  It  is  a  village  of 
several  thousand  inhabitants,  ministered  to  by  a 
number  of  priests,  five  of  whom  called  on  us  while 


1 78  The  Gate  of  Asia 

we  were  the  guests  of  the  village.  The  oldest  of 
these  was  a  quaint  old  white-bearded  man,  of  a 
quiet,  spiritual  countenance  who  might  have  sat  for 
a  picture  of  the  Apostle  John  during  his  last  days 
at  Patmos.  The  others  were  all  grave  but  pleas- 
ant, of  whom  the  youngest  made  the  greatest 
impression  upon  us.  He  was  a  dark  man  with 
kindly  but  markedly  Semitic  features,  who  had  but 
lately  taken  orders.  He  had  studied  in  Rome, 
and  spoke  Italian  and  a  few  words  of  French  and 
English.  He  greatly  deplored  the  lack  of  a  stable 
government  and  said  the  hope  of  his  Church  was 
in  England.  He  was  a  pronounced  Russophobe, 
looking  upon  that  race  as  little,  if  any,  better 
than  the  Turks.  They  invited  our  attendance  in 
the  large  stone  church,  where  a  simple  service  is 
held  every  evening,  in  a  great  barn-like  room 
devoid  of  images  or  pictures.  Like  most  of  the 
churches  in  the  region  its  only  outward  decoration 
is  a  belfry,  almost  as  important  a  Christian  symbol 
as  the  cross,  for  Mohammed  execrated  the  use  of 
bells  because  they  are  of  the  devil.  So  it  is  in 
direct  contravention  of  Moslem  law  that  every 
church  service  begins  and  ends  with  furious 
ringing  of  bells. 

The  people  of  Tel  Kaif  are  well  known  as  river 
men  in  the  Tigris  valley.  They  form  the  crews 
of  all  the  Lynch  steamers,  and  of  those  running 
on  the  Karun  River  in  Persia,  from  Mahommerah 
to  Ahwaz.  There  is  now  a  Chaldaean  priest  in 
the  latter  city,  quite  near  the  old  Christian  college 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  179 

of  Jund-i-Shapur  whence  went  forth  the  mission- 
aries that  established  theNestorian  church  in  Turk- 
estan, in  China,  and  in  India.  Many  of  these 
people  have  gone  to  America  and  other  parts  of 
the  world,  and  they  are  much  in  demand  as  ser- 
vants in  Bagdad.  Our  man  Asoufi,  though  born 
in  that  city,  claimed  Tel  Kaif  as  the  native  town 
of  his  parents.  The  Tel  Kaifis  are  muleteers  too, 
and  it  was  from  among  their  number  that  we 
secured  four  men  with  seven  rather  mean  animals, 
six  mules  and  a  horse,  to  carry  us  on  to  Lake  Van 
from  Mosul.  I  regret  to  say  that  little  can  be 
said  in  favour  of  these  men,  who  proved  to  be  hard 
bargainers,  selfish  and  unkind  to  their  beasts, 
which  they  heartlessly  underfed.  The  other  Chal- 
dagans  we  employed  were,  on  the  whole,  rather 
good.  Asoufi  left  little  to  be  desired;  he  was 
faithful,  scrupulously  honest,  willing,  patient, 
and  intelligent. 

The  Jacobites  of  Kurdistan  and  the  neighbouring 
plains  form  a  remnant  of  the  Syrian  church,  whose 
defection  from  the  Greek  orthodox  dates,  not  from 
the  Council  of  Ephesus  in  431,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Nestorian,  but  from  that  of  Chalcedon,  twenty 
years  later.  As  in  the  case  of  the  more  eastern 
church  the  real  reason  for  Syrian  repudiation  of 
Constantinople  was  political  rather  than  doctrinal. 
But  so  deeply  involved  in  doctrinal  questions  did 
the  church  become  that  they  fairly  overshadowed 
the  more  important  temporal  difficulties.  And 
that  is  the  reason  why  Jacobites  and  Nestorians 


i8o  The  Gate  of  Asia 

will  not  today  unite,  for  the  former  were  followers 
of  Cyril  in  431,  the  arch  enemy  of  Nestorius 
whose  name  the  latter  bear.  It  ^  does  not  signify 
at  all  that  the  doctrines  now  taught  in  both 
churches  are  identical,  and  that,  if  Nestorius 
did  teach  the  doctrines  for  which  he  was  con- 
demned, which  is  improbable,  they  have  been  for- 
gotten by  his  followers.  The  fact  remains  that 
historically  the  two  churches  are  irreconcilable.  On 
account  of  the  condemnation  by  the  two  coun- 
cils of  these  churches  they  have  been  branded 
in  the  West  with  the  name  Monophysites,  believers 
in  one  nature.  Now  it  is  quite  possible  that 
at  one  time  this  doctrine  may  have  been  held,  but 
today  it  has  entirely  disappeared  from  both 
churches,  who  teach  the  dual  nature  of  Christ. 
Their  doctrines  and  services  savour  strongly  of 
Western  Protestantism.  Indeed  there  is  a  marked 
resemblance  between  them  and  the  Church  of 
England,  a  fact  strongly  realized  by  the  Nestori- 
ans,  who  appealed  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
in  1868  to  aid  them  in  keeping  alive  their  closely 
related  communion.  The  answer  to  this  appeal 
was  the  formation  of  a  mission  of  gallant  English 
clergymen  who  are  labouring,  not  to  proselytize, 
but  to  build  up  the  existing  Nestorian  church. 

The  home  of  the  Jacobite  church  is  the  great 
volcanic  plateau  of  the  Tur  Abdin,  the  "Mountain 
of  God's  Servants,"  which  lies  to  the  west  of  the 
Tigris,  north  of  the  Mosul  plain.  Many  of  them 
are  to  be  found  in  the  Tigris  valley  and  in  Mosul, 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  181 

where,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  the  British 
vice-consul  lives  in  one  of  their  monasteries. 
Their  patriarch,  Mar  (Saint)  Ignatius,  lives  in 
Deir-al-Zaaferan,  the  "Monastery  of  the  Yellow 
Rocks, "  near  the  important  town  of  Mardin, 
seven  days  north  of  Mosul.  He  is  the  direct 
inheritor  of  the  old  see  of  Antioch,  formerly  the 
temporal  and  religious  capital  of  Syria.  There  he 
remained  until  after  the  Arab  conquest,  but  as  per- 
secution followed  persecution  he  was  forced  to 
flee  from  monastery  to  monastery  until  he  found 
refuge  in  the  remote  Tur  Abdin.  There  he 
gathered  his  little  flock  about  him  and  they  have 
so  successfully  held  their  own  that  the  traveller 
across  that  rough  plateau  of  black  volcanic  rock 
sees  only  Christian  villages,  and  may  rest  each 
night  in  a  Christian  church  or  monastic  institution. 
They  owe  their  name,  or  rather  nickname,  to  an 
incident  of  the  days  of  Justinian,  who  was  a  worse 
enemy  than  the  Mohammedans  to  those  he  looked 
upon  as  heretics.  In  order  to  break  the  power  of 
the  Syrian  church  and  force  its  members  into 
orthodoxy,  he  imprisoned  all  their  bishops  to 
prevent  the  ordination  of  any  unorthodox  clergy. 
But  they  succeeded  in  secretly  consecrating  a  monk, 
Jacobus  Baradasus,  who  for  thirty-five  years  was 
the  only  bishop  of  the  church  at  large.  Disguised 
as  a  beggar  he  wandered  from  place  to  place, 
filling  the  vacancies  in  the  ranks  of  the  clergy.  Of 
course  he  was  not  recognized  by  the  orthodox,  who 
termed  his  clergy  Jacobites,  followers  of  Jacobus, 


1 82  The  Gate  of  Asia 

not  of  Christ.  This  term  of  opprobrium  soon  came 
to  be  applied  to  the  entire  church,  and  remains  to- 
day a  sinister  reminder  of  the  day  when  Christian 
persecuted  Christian,  preparing  the  way  for  Mo- 
hammedan supremacy  in  the  Near  East. 

The  vilayet  of  Mosul  is  the  home  of  a  strange 
survival  of  the  old  Magian  cult  of  Persia,  whose 
followers  today  are  called  Yezidis.  These  unfor- 
tunates are  doomed  to  spend  their  lives  in  the 
worship  of  the  devil  in  order  that  they  may, 
if  possible,  mitigate  their  lot  in  hell.  They  revere 
the  spirit  of  evil  because  they  fear  him,  and  believe 
that  the  good  god,  Yazdan,  the  Most  High,  will  do 
no  harm.  They  make  no  attempt  to  deny  that  it 
is  Sheitan  whom  they  worship,  though  that  name 
is  interdicted  among  them,  and  to  mention  it  in 
the  presence  of  one  of  their  number  is  a  deadly 
insult.  Instead  they  use  the  name  Melek  Taus, 
meaning  the  Spirit-Peacock,  the  peacock  being  the 
form  in  which  they  worship  his  Satanic  majesty. 

Their  creed  has  little  of  its  pristine  purity  re- 
maining, on  account  of  the  incessant  persecution 
by  Christians  and  Mohammedans.  From  both 
these  religions  and  from  the  Jews  they  have 
borrowed  much,  until  their  doctrine  has  become  a 
bewildering  patchwork,  its  form  only  remaining 
similar  to  the  original  type.  From  the  Magians 
they  have  inherited  the  idea  of  propitiating  Ahri- 
man,  the  evil  principle,  and  their  word  for  God, 
Yazdan,  is  clearly  a  corruption  of  the  Persian 
Ahuramazda.  They  retain  also  the  old  nature 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  183 

worship,  reverencing  the  sun,  springs  of  water, 
and  trees. 

Besides  Melek  Taus,  the  great  evil  spirit,  they 
recognize  Melek  Isa,  Jesus,  and  the  Gospels  they 
accept  as  canonical ;  but  they  deny  the  crucifixion, 
accepting  the  Mohammedan  version  that  a  like- 
ness only  was  raised  on  the  cross,  the  real  Jesus 
being  snatched  away,  they  add,  by  Melek  Taus. 
His  seat  is  now  the  sun,  which  they  call  Sheikh 
Shems-ed-din,  and  before  which  they  prostrate 
themselves  every  morning.  At  their  great  yearly 
festival  they  sacrifice  one  sheep  to  Melek  Isa, 
but  seven  to  Melek  Taus;  for  the  former  is  slow 
to  anger  and  plenteous  in  mercy,  but  the  latter  is  a 
fierce  and  jealous  god.  He  it  is  who  now  rules  the 
world,  having  been  appointed  to  that  position  for 
ten  thousand  years,  of  which  four  thousand  are  yet 
to  run.  After  that  the  power  of  evil  will  be  broken 
and  Melek  Isa  will  reign  for  another  ten  millennia. 

Mohammed  provided  for  tolerant  treatment  of 
Christians  and  Jews  because  they  were  "people  of 
a  book"  i.e.  of  a  revealed  religion.  The  Yezidis, 
however,  were  looked  upon  as  people  without  a 
book  and  therefore  worthy  of  most  drastic  perse- 
cution. Today  the  Moslem  looks  upon  the 
Christian  as  a  dog,  for  though  he  reveres  the  lesser 
prophets  Moses  and  Jesus,  he  denies  the  greatest  of 
all  prophets,  Mohammed.  The  Jew  is  far  lower,  for 
though  he  has  a  book  he  follows  only  Moses,  deny- 
ing both  Jesus  and  Mohammed.  But  as  for  the 
Yezidi,  he  has  no  prophet  at  all  that  the  Moslem 


1 84  The  Gate  of  Asia 

knows,  nor  even  a  book.  He  is  therefore  the  victim 
of  every  kind  of  ill  treatment,  in  which  Christians 
and  Jews  join.  He  is  however  a  little  too  familiar 
with  the  devil  to  be  attacked  save  in  force,  and 
the  most  bigoted  Moslem  will  hesitate  to  pass  a 
Yezidi's  house  at  night. 

It  is  now  known  that  the  Yezidis  have  a  book ;  but 
so  carefully  is  it  concealed  and  so  jealously  is  the 
art  of  reading  guarded  by  the  ruling  family,  who 
alone  share  its  mysteries,  that  it  can  be  of  little 
value  to  the  congregation.  It  is  called  the  Kitab- 
al-Aswad,  the  Black  Book,  and  dates  from  the 
tenth  century.  In  it  we  find  a  general  discussion 
of  Yezidi  belief  at  that  time,  which  is  further 
brought  out  by  a  thirteenth-century  commentary, 
the  Kitab-al-Jilwa,  or  Book  of  Enlightenment. 
From  them  we  are  able  to  reconstruct  a  curiously 
agglomerated  cosmogonic  myth. 

In  the  beginning  the  seven  archangels  began  the 
work  of  creation,  but  fell  out  over  the  fashioning 
of  the  snake,  which  Melek  Taus  had  especially 
devoted  himself  to.  In  the  quarrel  that  ensued 
he  was  worsted  and  cast  down  from  heaven  with 
his  snake,  the  others  refusing  to  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  him  or  his  earth.  In  a  great  rage 
he  finished  the  work  of  creation  and  established, 
as  his  very  own,  the  Yezidi  religion.  Those  who 
are  born  to  this  religion  are  bound  to  worship 
him  and  spend  their  lives  in  propitiating  him. 
They  do  not  hope  to  get  to  heaven;  indeed  they 
believe  it  to  be  inaccessible  to  one  of  their  number, 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  185 

unless  he  do  four  times  as  much  good  as  evil. 
However  they  do  believe  that  when  the  ten  thou- 
sand years  are  up  Melek  Taus  will  be  reinstated 
in  heaven,  and  will  then  be  good  to  his  faithful 
followers  on  earth.  A  naive  picture,  indeed,  of  a 
restored  Lucifer,  feeling  kindly  toward  those  who 
were  faithful  to  him  in  his  unregenerate  days. 

However  black  may  be  the  prospect  thus  offered 
the  faithful  Yezidi,  he  is  almost  unknown  to  give 
up  his  faith,  even  in  times  of  bitterest  persecution. 
Every  day  he  prays,  "O  Melek  Taus,  thou  hast 
created  me  a  Yezidi,  keep  me  ever  faithful  to  my 
religion. "  This  is  a  very  striking  commentary  on 
the  Oriental  idea  of  religion  as  coextensive  with 
tribal  or  race  consciousness. 

Although  there  are  more  Yezidis  to  the.  south- 
west of  Mosul,  in  the  rugged  Jebel  Sinjar,  than  in 
any  other  quarter,  their  chief  shrine  is  a  short 
distance  to  the  north-east.  This  temple  of  the 
devil  is  hidden  away  in  a  hollow  of  the  Kurdish 
mountains  not  far  from  the  road  to  the  Nestorian 
capital.  It  is  reached  by  devious  ways  that 
straggle  through  desolate  gorges.  It  is  no  easy 
matter  to  gain  access,  but  for  the  foreigner  every 
gate  of  the  oppressed  is  soon  opened,  once  he 
identifies  himself.  Within  is  a  series  of  bare  rooms 
where  pilgrims  are  lodged,  and  then  the  central 
shrine  and  burial-place  of  the  Yezidi  saint  Sheikh 
Adi,  who  now  doubtless  lords  it  in  the  train  of 
Lucifer.  Above  the  shrine  rise  two  fluted  con- 
ical spires,  a  curious_architectural  form,  inherited 


1 86  The  Gate  of  Asia 

doubtless  from  some  older  builders  whose  lore 
has  been  lost  to  us. 

The  stones  in  the  wall  of  the  facade  are  cut  with 
cabalistic  signs,  of  which  the  meaning  is  either 
forgotten  or  carefully  guarded.  Beside  the  door 
in  high  relief  is  the  figure  of  the  snake,  closely 
associated  with  Melek  Taus  in  Yezidi  legend,  and 
here  kept  carefully  blacked. 

Within  the  door  is  a  chilly  darkness  and  the 
roar  of  running  waters.  The  interior  consists  of 
two  vaulted  aisles,  one  a  little  higher  than  the 
other.  Almost  midway  in  the  wall  of  the  former 
is  a  sort  of  grill,  closing  a  doorway  within  which 
is  the  devil's  sanctuary.  It  is  occupied  merely  by 
a  chest  covered  by  red  cloths,  but  within  is  the 
chief  effigy  of  Melek  Taus,  the  sacred  peacock. 
Beyond  the  shrine  is  a  cave  full  of  running  water,  a 
sacred  spring  said  to  be,  like  many  others,  con- 
nected with  the  well  of  Zemzem  at  Mecca. 

This  spring  owes  its  origin  to  Sheikh  Adi,  the 
eponymous  prophet  of  the  shrine.  There  came 
to  him  certain  sheikhs  from  Mecca  who  sought 
to  turn  him  from  his  religion  and  persuade  him  to 
follow  Mohammed.  He  asked  them  whence  they 
came  and  what  they  had  left  behind  that  they 
missed  and  would  like  to  have.  One  had  forgotten 
his  favourite  staff,  another  had  mislaid  a  string  of 
beads.  Thereupon  Sheikh  Adi  struck  upon  the 
ground  with  his  staff.  Instantly  water  began 
to  flow  and  with  the  water  came  first  the  staff,  and 
then  the  beads,  straight  from  Mecca.  Of  course 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains''  187 

the  sheikhs  could  not  argue  against  such  a  miracle 
and  forthwith  became  Yezidis. 

Who  Sheikh  Adi  was  and  whence  he  came  we 
cannot  tell  for  there  are  many  stories  about  him, 
all  so  mystical  as  to  leave  little  basis  of  fact.  He 
is  said  to  have  come  from  Aleppo,  or  the  Hauran, 
where  the  Magian  cult  held  out  for  a  long  time  and 
is  now  represented  by  the  Druses.  Very  likely 
he  was  a  Druse,  and  wandered  eastward  on  some 
pilgrimage,  found  this  remnant  of  his  once  wide- 
spread cult,  and  finished  his  days  in  their  midst. 

Layard,  the  excavator  of  Nineveh,  was  very 
much  liked  among  the  Devil-Worshippers  and  saw 
many  of  their  most  sacred  rites,  of  which  he  has 
left  us  some  fascinating  descriptions  in  his  Nine- 
veh and  its  Remains.  These  rites  show  close 
resemblances  to  some  of  the  old  Assyrian  ceremo- 
nies, and  doubtless  much  of  their  faith  was  of  Chal- 
daean  origin.  The  people  themselves  are  Semitic 
and  today  speak  Arabic. 

They  have  a  distinctive  dress  in  which  red, 
Lucifer's  peculiar  colour,  is  predominant.  It 
consists  in  the  case  of  the  men  of  a  tunic,  trousers, 
and  shirt  of  white  with  a  red  sash  and  turban. 
They  abhor  blue,  the  colour  used  by  Moslems  and 
Christians  to  ward  off  the  evil  eye. 

They  are  ruled  by  a  sheikh  called  an  Emir, 
who  belongs  to  a  ruling  family  which  has  held  the 
distinction  for  generations.  Until  quite  recently 
this  position  was  held  by  a  rather  strong  and 
well-known  old  man  named  AH  Bey.  He  disap- 


i88  The  Gate  of  Asia 

peared  a  short  time  ago  and  was  succeeded  by  his 
nephew  Ismail  Bey.  At  the  time  of  our  visit  that 
young  man  too  had  been  forced  to  flee  by  his 
sister.  He  was  most  unpopular  on  account  of  his 
enlightened  views,  picked  up  in  Tiflis,  in  Russia, 
where  are  a  large  body  of  his  followers,  and  whither 
he  had  fled  from  his  uncle's  jealousy.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  propose  to  establish  schools  for  his  people, 
but  the  only  response  he  got  was  the  accusation 
that  he  sought  to  make  Christians  of  them.  He 
wanders  back  and  forth  in  exile,  ever  fearful  of  his 
sister  who  holds  the  reigns  of  government  for  her 
son,  a  little  lad  whom  we  saw  in  Mosul. 

The  authority  of  the  Emir  is  absolute  over  all 
the  150,000  Yezidis  that  are  scattered  over  the 
mountains  of  Kurdistan  and  neighbouring  parts 
of  Persia  and  Russia.  His  word  is  law  and  he  has 
the  power  not  only  of  life  and  death,  but  to  con- 
demn to  eternal  damnation  in  the  life  to  come. 

His  chief  income  is  derived  from  seven  Sanjaks 
or  Standards,  which  are  images  in  bronze  of  Melek 
Taus,  said  to  have  been  fashioned  by  him.  Each 
bears  the  legend :  ' '  Blessings  go  where  you  go ;  he 
that  kisses  you,  kisses  me;  he  that  gives  to  you, 
gives  to  me,"  which  are  supposed  to  be  the  words 
of  Melek  Taus.  These  images  are  carried  from 
village  to  village,  escorted  with  great  pomp  and 
circumstance,  and  guarded  with  jealous  care  lest 
they  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemies  of  the  faith. 

On  reaching  a  village  the  gifts  of  the  villagers 
are  brought,  varying  in  amount  according  to  the 


"The  People  of  the  Mountains"  189 

wealth  of  the  giver.  During  the  night,  the  pea- 
cock rests  in  the  house  of  the  Agha,  and  may 
remain  a  second  night  if  his  gift  be  large  enough. 
If  there  be  several  men  of  substance  in  the  village 
it  may  spend  some  time  going  from  house  to  house, 
upon  each  of  which  it  is  supposed  to  confer  a 
blessing,  which  must  be  duly  paid  for.  The 
privilege  of  carrying  it  is  farmed  out  for  a  lump 
sum,  which  is  said  to  have  been  as  high  as  100,000 
liras  in  the  days  of  AH  Bey.  But  times  are  bad 
for  the  Yezidis  now  that  the  Kurds  have  modern 
rifles.  When  Ismail  Bey  fled  from  his  sister  he 
carried  one  of  the  Sanjaks  with  him,  which  bade 
fair  to  keep  him  well  supplied  with  the  necessaries 
of  life.  But  it  was  unfortunately  carried  off  by  a 
servant  who  returned  it  to  Sheikh  Adi  in  return  for 
a  sum  said  to  have  made  him  independent  for  life. 
It  might  be  supposed  that  a  people  that  worship 
Satan  would  seek  to  please  their  divinity  by 
imitation.  This  is  not  the  case  with  the  Yezidis, 
who  are  truthful  and  honest,  faithful  to  every 
obligation.  Melek  Taus  is  invoked  as  guardian 
of  oaths  in  a  curious  manner.  A  circle  is  drawn 
upon  the  ground  and  someone  declares  that  all 
within  it  belongs  to  Melek  Taus.  The  witness 
then  enters  it  and  fully  believes  that  hopeless 
damnation  would  follow  any  deviation  from  the 
truth.  In  their  family  relations  too  the  Yezidis 
bear  a  good  reputation;  divorce  is  impossible, 
prostitution  and  adultery  almost  unknown. 


CHAPTER  IX 

INTO   THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  HAKKIARI    KURDS 

WE  who  live  where  a  month  without  a  shower 
to  lay  the  dust  is  considered  a  burden,  can 
little  appreciate  the  situation  in  those  less  favoured 
regions  in  which  a  rainless  year  may  spread  famine 
and  desolation.  Such  a  region  is  the  upper  Tigris 
valley.  To  the  south  stretch  away  the  vast 
deserts  of  Mesopotamia  and  Arabia  upon  which 
rain  is  said  to  fall  but  once  in  seven  years.  To 
the  north  are  the  lofty  mountains  of  Kurdistan 
and  Armenia  whose  snow-capped  summits  look 
down  upon  well-watered  valleys,  shut  off  from 
the  desert  by  dangerous  passes.  At  the  end  of  the 
winter  when  Mesopotamia  has  been  chilled  by  the 
cold  nights,  the  clouds  slip  down  from  the  moun- 
tains and  drop  the  rain  upon  the  foothills  and  later, 
if  the  conditions  be  favourable,  water  a  wide 
belt  of  the  flat  country  beyond.  Sometimes, 
however,  a  warm  winter  makes  the  rains  late 
and  the  hot  blast  sweeps  too  early  across  the 
Arabian  desert,  dissipates  the  clouds,  and  the 
rains  are  lost.  This  happens  about  once  in  ten 
years  and  causes  great  distress  because  only  those 

190 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  191 

crops  that  can  be  laboriously  irrigated  with 
hoists  from  the  river  can  be  saved.  These  years 
are  looked  forward  to  with  a  feeling  little  short 
of  terror  by  the  people,  and  when  a  drought  is 
threatened  the  religious  fervour  of  the  Semitic  races 
breaks  out  in  a  frenzy  of  supplication. 

At  the  time  of  our  visit  to  Mosul  in  March  the 
rains  were  overdue,  the  soil  was  baked  hard,  and 
the  winter-sown  barley  had  not  begun  its  spring 
growth.  One  day  when  we  had  ridden  among 
the  mounds  of  ancient  Nineveh  we  returned 
toward  evening  to  the  river  bank  where  we  found 
the  water-hoists  at  work.  The  scrawny  blind- 
folded mules  toiled  around  and  around  turning  the 
wheels  that  raised  the  endless  chains  of  buckets 
to  swell  the  sickly  streams  in  the  irrigating  ditches, 
while  ragged  Arab  boys  sat  by  idly  kicking  their 
heels  in  the  dust  or  shrilly  chanting  some  desert 
legend.  Only  here  had  the  barley  reached  a  fair 
height  but  even  here  it  was  straggling  and  listless. 
The  only  plants  that  did  not  seem  to  be  calling 
for  water  were  the  little  blue  irises  of  the  desert 
that  grew  wherever  they  were  not  disturbed,  even 
in  the  dust  of  the  roadway. 

When  we  rode  into  the  city  we  found  the  booths 
in  the  bazaars  were  closed,  although  it  was  not  yet 
sunset,  and  even  the  little  shops,  where  loaves  of 
unleavened  bread,  dates,  and  raisins  are  always 
exposed  for  sale,  seemed  to  expect  no  customers, 
and  the  charcoal  braziers  over  which  little  lumps  of 
meat  are  roasted  on  metal  skewers  were  not  lighted. 


192  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  streets  were  full  of  people  all  moving  in  the 
same  direction,  but  when  the  cries  of  the  muez- 
zins sounded  from  the  minarets  calling  the  faith- 
ful to  prayer  the  crowds  melted  away  and  our 
horses'  hoofs  echoed  hollowly  in  the  narrow  streets. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  consulate  we  learned 
that  it  was  the  first  of  three  days  of  fasting  and 
prayer  for  rain.  The  sun  having  set  we  went  up  to 
the  roof  with  our  host  and  saw,  through  the  gloom 
of  the  gathering  dusk,  the  blue  smoke-haze  of  the 
cooking  rise  over  the  roofs  of  the  city,  and  knew 
that  the  faithful  had  finished  their  fast  for  that 
day  and  were  preparing  for  more  to  come  by 
feasting  during  the  hours  when  feasting  is  per- 
mitted. 

Soon  there  rose  through  the  still  air  a  chant, 
a  cry  to  God  to  hear  the  prayers  of  his  people. 
Then  from  all  over  the  city  came  the  words, 
repeated  with  measured  beat  like  a  solemn  litany, 
"La  Allah  il  Allah!  La  Allah  il  Allah!"  The 
loafers  in  the  streets  stood  in  groups  beating  their 
hands  to  the  measure.  In  the  coffee-houses,  usu- 
ally painfully  silent,  where  no  conversation  is 
carried  on  above  a  whisper,  pandemonium  broke 
loose,  and  the  staid  old  Arabs  joined  in  the  mono- 
tonous repetition,  pausing  only  to  snatch  a  puff 
from  a  nargileh  or  a  sip  from  a  tiny  cup  of  coffee 
or  glass  of  tea.  The  narrow  windows  of  the 
houses  opened  and  heads  were  thrust  out,  people 
were  leaning  from  the  parapets  of  the  roofs,  and 
others  must  have  been  in  the  court-yards,  all 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  193 

joining  in  reiterating  the  solemn  chant,  "There 
is  no  God  but  God. "  Far  into  the  night  they  kept 
it  up  and  even  long  after  midnight  we  heard  the 
words  repeated  again  and  again  for  half  an  hour 
at  a  time. 

The  first  day  was  succeeded  by  another  day  of 
fasting,  another  night  of  prayer.  The  third  day 
marked  the  culmination.  The  whole  city  was 
dressed  in  holiday  attire.  No  one  did  any  work, 
of  course,  but  crowds  visited  all  the  shrines  of  the 
city  from  daybreak  to  sunset  and  made  offerings  and 
prayers.  But  the  greatest  crowds  visited  the  most 
sacred  shrine  of  all,  the  tomb  of  the  prophet  Jonah. 
The  bridge  that  leads  across  the  Tigris  to  Nineveh 
was  thronged  with  worshippers,  Moslem,  Chris- 
tian, and  Jew  alike,  who  went  to  pray  in  a  dozen 
languages  to  the  good  prophet  Nibi  Yunis  to  per- 
suade Allah,  Jesus,  or  Jahveh  to  allow  the  gentle 
rain  to  fall  so  that  the  crops  would  not  utterly 
fail.  There  were  Arabs  in  cloaks  of  brown,  or 
brown  and  white  stripes,  with  bright  head  kerchiefs 
or  turbans,  Turkish  troops  in  green  uniforms, 
Moslem  women  in  embroidered  silk  abas,  Jewish 
women  in  gay  shawls,  Christian  priests  in  rusty 
black,  Kurds  in  goatskin  jackets  and  baggy  trou- 
sers, Persians,  Circassians,  all  the  motley  throng 
of  an  Oriental  city. 

We  left  Mosul  next  day  on  our  journey  up  the 

Tigris  valley.     Before  we  reached  our  resting  place 

at  the  end  of  the  day  it  began  to  rain  and  it  was 

with  much  satisfaction  that  we  reached  the  shelter 

13 


194  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  the  rest-house  at  Tel  Kaif ,  a  village  of  Chaldaean 
Christians.  The  rain  did  not  abate  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  Indeed  so  great  was  the  downpour  that 
it  was  impossible  to  march.  So  we  stopped  among 
our  Christian  friends  another  day.  The  third 
day  dawned  clear  and  cool  and  we  set  out  joy- 
fully, accompanied  for  a  distance  by  almost  the 
whole  village,  who  surrounded  us  like  a  cloud,  men, 
women,  and  children.  I  did  not  get  out  my  poncho 
for  I  did  not  dream  that  in  that  dry  country 
it  would  rain  for  three  days  in  succession.  But  I 
was  not  reckoning  on  the  effect  of  the  three  days 
of  fasting.  Soon  after  we  had  had  tiffin  it  began 
to  rain.  Great  black  clouds  were  driven  toward 
us  by  fierce  gusts  of  wind  that  blew  directly  in  our 
faces.  Then  the  clouds  broke  suddenly  and  we 
were  deluged  with  rain.  At  times  it  fell  in  such 
sheets  that  I  could  not  see  my  horse's  head  and 
could  only  huddle  down,  feeling  the  rain  running 
off  my  helmet,  down  my  neck,  into  my  high  boots, 
everywhere.  I  was  quickly  soaked  and  when  we 
could  go  on  again  the  horses  splashed  through 
water  that  ran  in  streams  down  the  trail. 

We  rode  on  through  a  steady  downpour.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  stream  that  wet 
our  horses'  girths  as  we  forded  it,  but  gave  us  no 
serious  trouble.  By  this  time  Edwin  Warfield 
and  I,  with  one  of  our  two  zaptiehs,  had  pressed 
forward  a  mile  or  more  ahead  of  the  caravan. 
Beyond  the  stream  we  climbed  a  steep  escarpment 
reaching  a  plateau  that  overlooked  the  flat  country 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  195 

over  which  we  had  been  travelling.  We  paused  at 
the  top  of  the  slippery  ascent  to  look  back.  At  our 
feet  ran  the  river,  a  dull  red  line.  Straight  away 
stretched  the  road,  bright  red  with  vivid  green 
grass  on  either  side,  but  fading  quickly  in  the  dull 
grey  mist  of  the  rain.  A  post  caravan,  the  horses 
loaded  with  rubber  mail-sacks,  splashed  by,  the 
Tartar  in  charge  urging  the  horses  to  greater  speed 
in  his  haste  to  reach  shelter.  Then  we  saw  our  own 
caravan  approaching  the  river  and  satisfied  of  their 
safety  rode  on.  We  crossed  some  hollows,  splash- 
ing through  deep  water  at  the  bottom  of  each, 
and  soon  came  in  sight  of  a  ruined  castle  on  a  hill, 
with  a  village  nestling  at  its  foot.  The  dark 
brown  mud  houses  were  relieved  by  bright  white 
dots  that  shone  even  through  the  rain,  for  there 
was  a  nesting  stork  on  every  one  of  the  thatched 
roofs.  A  small  stream  was  between  us  and  the 
village,  the  whole  bottom  filled  with  soft  grey 
mud.  We  slithered  and  slid  down  one  bank  and 
my  companion's  horse  splashed  to  and  up  the 
other.  I  started  to  follow  when  suddenly  every- 
thing went  out  from  under  me  and  I  found  myself 
sitting  in  soft  mud,  my  feet  still  in  the  stirrups, 
with  my  mule's  head  and  forefeet  sticking  out  in 
front  and  his  tail  floating  behind.  I  climbed  out 
on  the  saddle  and  reaching  the  bank  encouraged  my 
beast,  who  managed  to  free  himself.  We  then 
rode  up  to  the  inn  in  the  village,  and  having  turned 
our  mounts  over  to  the  innkeeper,  sat  down  before 
a  smoking  fire  in  the  centre  of  a  mud-walled  room. 


196  The  Gate  of  Asia 

There  we  waited  for  the  caravan  and  every  time 
the  barking  of  dogs  in  the  village  heralded  the 
return  of  a  flock  of  sheep  or  herd  of  mares  from  the 
pastures,  we  looked  out  for  our  baggage,  only 
to  suffer  disappointment  after  disappointment. 
Sitting  on  the  mud  floor  before  the  smoky  fire  and 
raising  my  boots  to  let  the  water  pour  out  in 
streams,  I  began  to  think  of  the  warm  sleeping- 
bag  and  dry  clothes  in  the  delinquent  packs. 
Besides  we  had  nothing  to  eat,  and  a  chilly  wind 
was  blowing  across  the  plateau.  Finally  the 
zaptieh  who  had  ridden  back  to  investigate  returned 
with  the  cheerless  information  that  the  stream  we 
had  crossed  but  a  short  time  before  had  risen  so 
high  as  to  be  impassable,  and  our  caravan  had  been 
compelled  to  camp  on  the  other  side.  So  we  made 
ourselves  as  comfortable  as  might  be  and,  with  the 
slight  consolation  of  a  flask  of  whiskey  from  our 
first-aid  kit,  and  a  bit  of  tea  secured  from  the 
innkeeper,  we  slept  soundly  until  dawn. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  that  followed,  clear 
and  sunny,  and  we  sallied  forth  in  our  wet  clothes 
to  look  at  this  village  of  Simeb.  Its  only  point  of 
interest  is  the  badly  ruined  castle  which  now  serves 
as  a  zaptieh  post.  The  view  over  the  heavily 
rolling  country  is  very  fine.  To  the  south-west 
the  land  falls  off  rapidly  toward  the  plain  of  the 
Tigris,  but  in  the  opposite  direction  rises  the  bare 
rocky  ridge  of  Jebel  Abiad.  Beautiful  as  this 
country  was,  I  fear  we  could  not  help  wishing  for 
breakfast. 


! 


f' 


The  Ferry  at  Feish-Khabur 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  197 

About  ten  o'clock  the  caravan  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, and  we  set  Asoufi  right  to  work  to  get  us 
the  most  filling  victuals  that  could  be  had  in  a  short 
time.  Then  we  got  into  dry  clothes  and  hovered 
around  the  charcoal  brazier  over  which  break- 
fast was  preparing.  The  clear  air  of  the  hills 
would  have  given  any  one  a  good  appetite,  and 
we  had  had  no  square  meal  since  breakfast  the 
day  before.  So  we  stood  not  on  ceremony  but 
got  outside  of  a  meal  the  memory  of  which  rejoices 
my  heart  to  this  day.  Little  incidents  of  this 
sort  add  a  real  spice  to  caravan  travel  and  are 
often  remembered  when  more  important  things 
are  forgotten. 

Hidden  away  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocky,  precipitous 
Jebel  Abiad  is  the  little  stone  village  of  Asi.  It 
is  a  very  pretty  spot,  for  the  mouth  of  the  cleft 
is  choked  with  tall  poplars  and  blossoming  fruit 
trees.  Before  them  slope  away  a  series  of  walled 
vineyards  and  grain  fields,  while  rocky  pastures, 
full  of  colourful  spring  flowers,  hem  in  the  cultiva- 
tion on  either  side.  The  dwellings  are  low  stone 
huts  with  roofs  of  poplar  poles  plastered  with  mud. 
Conspicuous  among  them  is  the  larger  house  of  the 
priest,  which  serves  his  little  flock  also  as  a  church, 
for  the  people  of  this  village  are  of  the  congregation 
of  Mar  Shimun,  and  members  of  the  so-called 
Nestorian  communion.  Like  most  of  their  breth- 
ren they  dress  like  the  Kurds,  in  baggy  trousers 
and  goatskin  vests. 

To  this  village  we  came  to  take  refuge  from  the 


198  The  Gate  of  Asia 

rain  which  overtook  us  a  few  hours  beyond  Simeb. 
Being  but  a  tiny  isolated  village  it  had  no  inn, 
but  a  house  was  placed  at  our  disposal  when  we 
had  alighted  in  the  mud  that  is  the  most  conspicu- 
ous feature  of  such  a  place.  This  house  contained 
one  long  narrow  room,  high  enough  for  a  tall  man 
to  stand  upright,  with  a  door  at  the  end  of  one  of 
the  side  walls.  Windows  it  had  but  they  were 
very  small  and  closed,  in  the  usual  style  of  the 
mountain  villages,  by  a  handful  of  stones.  Being 
a  Christian  house  there  was  a  hole  in  the  roof  for 
the  smoke  to  escape  by.  Mohammedan  houses 
have  only  a  crack  left  between  wall  and  roof, 
while  the  Yezidis  make  no  provision  for  that  sort  of 
thing  at  all.  On  the  mud  floor  were  two  long  mats 
of  grass.  Our  muleteers  and  some  of  the  villagers 
gathered  around  the  brazier  where  Asoufi  was  pre- 
paring our  dinner  and  conversed  in  the  low,  grave 
tones  that  Orientals  affect  on  such  occasions. 

Before  sunset  the  sharp  shower,  that  had  driven 
us  to  shelter,  was  over  and  we  sallied  out  with  our 
guns  for  a  bit  of  shooting  among  the  fields  of  Asi. 
But  these  mountaineers  are  better  shots  than  the 
people  of  the  plains,  and  we  found  no  game  near 
the  village  on  this  occasion  or  any  other. 

Up  from  Mosul  and  along  the  foot  of  this  Jebel 
Abiad  we  frequently  saw  the  marks  of  a  made 
road.  It  consisted  of  roughly  square  limestone 
blocks  set  in  the  ground  like  the  cobbles  of  a  village 
street.  There  was  no  bed  under  them  and  no  sign 
of  a  top  dressing  ever  having  been  applied.  At 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  199 

times  the  caravan  track  ran  beside  it,  but  more 
frequently  it  wandered  away  in  search  of  a  better 
grade,  for  the  white  band  of  limestone  ran  straight 
ahead  over  the  rolling  places,  with  a  splendid 
disregard  of  the  steepest  ascents.  This  thing  was 
probably  laid  by  order  of  some  Vali  who  had  the 
reform  bee  in  his  turban,  and  was  more  fortunate 
in.  his  advisers  than  in  his  engineers.  Naturally 
pack  animals  will  not  walk  on  rough  blocks  of 
stone  when  there  is  a  nice  dirt  track,  and  they 
will  zigzag  up  or  down  a  slope. 

But  in  one  place  we  did  find  a  fairly  well-made 
road,  without  which  it  would  have  been  very  dif- 
ficult to  complete  our  next  day's  march,  although 
it  was,  of  course,  in  very  bad  repair.  It  leads 
through  a  pass  that  is  the  only  gap  in  the  forty- 
mile  rock  wall  of  Jebel  Abiad. 

The  first  section  of  this  pass  is  tame  enough,  for 
the  slopes  on  either  side,  though  high  and  steep, 
are  rounded.  But  on  account  of  the  dip  of  the 
strata  the  far  side  is  both  ragged  and  precipitous. 
Streams  run  down  each  side  forming  the  gorges 
up  and  down  which  the  road  runs.  The  first  one, 
running  over  the  top  of  the  strata,  is  nowhere 
picturesque,  but  the  other  has  cut  a  wild  and 
beautiful  gorge,  undermining  the  road  and  adding 
greatly  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene.  In 
places  its  bed  is  filled  with  huge  blocks  of  a  coarse 
conglomerate,  a  layer  of  which  it  has  undermined. 

We  crossed  the  pass  in  a  heavy  rain  and  started 
down  amid  hills  thinly  clad  with  oak  scrub,  that 


200  The  Gate  of  Asia 

gradually  disappeared  as  we  descended  into  the 
rugged  parts  of  the  gorge.  All  was  desolate  and 
the  few  mountaineers  we  met  added  to  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  scene.  Heavy  clouds  obscured  the 
sharp  hills  above  at  intervals  and  showered  us  with 
rain,  while  peals  of  thunder  reverberated  in  the 
narrow  gorge  with  a  deafening  din.  Then  a  high 
wind  would  drive  the  clouds  away  and  a  rainbow 
spread  across  the  gorge  from  wall  to  .wall.  As 
we  came  down  lower  the  clouds  at  one  time  opened 
and  gave  us  a  view  of  the  valley  we  were  approach- 
ing, a  broad  rain-drenched  country  with  the 
muddy  Khabur  River  winding  through  it.  When 
the  clouds  closed  again  we  were  winding  in  and  out 
among  huge  boulders  of  pudding-stone,  with  big 
drops  of  water  standing  out  all  over  them. 

After  a  time,  during  which  we  often  sank  to  the 
knees  in  mud  or  waded  the  torrent  in  places  where 
it  had  engulfed  the  road,  we  came  out  above  the 
valley  and  began  to  feel  the  force  of  the  cold  wind. 
It  was  driving  the  mist  before  it,  and  as  we  watched 
it  swept  the  clouds  away  like  a  curtain.  It  left 
an  atmosphere  as  clear  as  crystal  through  which 
great  peaks,  newly  decked  with  snow,  shone  white 
across  the  valley,  against  the  black  and  stormy 
sky.  At  our  feet  the  muddy  river  whirled  around 
an  island  with  a  sharp  promontory  on  which  stood 
a  ruined  castle,  and  behind  it  the  flat  roofs  of  a 
town.  Beyond  spread  the  wheat-fields  of  the 
valley  ranging  up  to  the  barrier  ridge.  Higher 
still,  tier  on  tier,  ragged  peak  and  knife-edge  ridge 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  201 

succeeded  snow-field  and  glacial  valley.  Down 
to  the  town  of  the  castle  we  came,  emerging  from 
the  gorge  upon  a  widespread  alluvial  fan.  A  bridge 
gave  access  to  the  town  and  through  the  muddy, 
smelly  streets  we  rode  to  the  dirty  little  khan. 

This  place  is  called  Zakho  and  must  have  been 
of  no  little  importance  at  one  time.  The  foun- 
dations of  its  castle  very  likely  date  from  Roman 
times,  though  the  carving  that  still  exists  within 
its  ruined  walls,  on  door  and  window  frame, 
indicates  that  parts  of  the  structure  were  built 
by  the  Seljuk  Turks  in  the  thirteenth  or  fourteenth 
century.  Situated  near  the  mouth  of  a  valley 
which  gives  access  to  some  of  the  remoter  parts  of 
Kurdistan,  and  also  at  the  foot  of  the  pass  that 
leads  to  Mosul,  its  position  was  once  of  primary 
strategic  importance. 

Its  people  are  chiefly  Christian  and  Jew,  but 
there  are  also  Kurds  and  Arabs  with  a  few  Turk- 
ish officials.  Each  race  has,  of  course,  its  own 
language. 

Zakho  is  the  residence  of  a  Chaldaean  bishop 
whose  church  is  situated  on  the  mainland.  Quite 
near  it  is  the  Nestorian  church,  which  boasts 
a  smaller  membership  and  is  led  only  by  a  simple 
priest.  The  Jews  are,  like  most  of  those  in  these 
mountains,  short,  stocky  men,  fine-featured  and 
dark,  usually  wearing  very  heavy  beards  which 
in  the  older  men  are  white,  lending  a  most  patri- 
archal dignity  to  the  wearer.  They  are  pleasant 
men  and  on  perfectly  good  terms  both  with 


202  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Nazarenes  and  the  true  believers.  These  have  a 
certain  dread  of  them  however  for  they  have  a  way 
of  placing  their  associates  under  obligation  and  then 
abusing  them  as  ingrates  with  such  a  flood  of  re- 
gretful tears  that,  for  very  shame,  the  "oppressor" 
is  compelled  to  make  them  a  present.  Those  of 
Zakho  still  speak  Hebrew  and  claim  to  belong  to 
the  children  of  the  captivity. 

Continued  rain  compelled  us  to  spend  the  next 
day  in  the  town  and  we  became  pretty  well  ac- 
quainted with  it.  Between  showers  we  ascended 
to  the  roof  of  the  inn  whence  a  beautiful  view  lay 
spread  out :  the  ruined  castle  with  the  storks  nest- 
ing upon  its  walls,  the  fertile  valley,  and  the 
magically  beautiful  mountains,  that  appeared  now 
and  again,  looming  almost  in  reach,  so  clear  was 
the  rain-washed  atmosphere. 

We  received  a  call  from  the  Kaimakam  who 
represents  the  Hukumet  in  this  isolated  stronghold 
of  its  empire.  With  him  came  a  certain  Yussuf 
Agha,  the  local  landholder  and  hereditary  chief 
of  the  neighbouring  Kurds.  He  was  much  inter- 
ested in  America  and  told  us  he  would  like  to  go 
there  with  us  but  feared  to  leave  his  property  for 
so  long  a  time,  lest  it  be  attacked  by  the  ashirets, 
the  independent  tribes,  who  were  his  enemies. 
In  true  American  style  we  boomed  our  native  land 
and  he  became  so  enthusiastic  that  he  even  pro- 
posed to  sell  out  and  join  us  later  in  the  land  of  the 
free.  But  when  we  explained  to  him  the  labour 
conditions  under  which  our  land  is  worked,  and 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  203 

the  "hired  man"  system,  he  decided  he  was  better 
off  in  the  Khabur  valley,  for  all  the  ashirets  that 
threatened  his  peace. 

The  people  in  this  vicinity  are  all  armed  with 
modern  rifles,  largely  Mausers,  which  are  rapidly 
taking  the  place  of  the  older  Martinis  and  Sniders. 
They  are  almost  all  of  German  manufacture  and 
are  the  cast-off  arms  of  the  German  army  which 
have  there  been  replaced  by  later  patterns.  These 
mountain  riflemen  realize  that  a  rifle  is  of  no  use 
without  cartridges,  so  they  go  about  fairly  covered 
with  that  kind  of  hardware.  Two  belts  are  usually 
worn  and  often  a  bandolier,  or  even  two.  I  have 
often  seen  men  with  hundreds  of  8  mm.  or  1 1  mm. 
cartridges  that  must  have  weighed  a  good  hundred 
pounds.  In  one  of  their  plundering  expeditions  or 
inter- village  battles  they  are  said  actually  to  use  up 
their  whole  supply,  and  yet  it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  they  do  so  without  result,  as  is  common  among 
the  Arabs.  These  hillmen  are  well  versed  in 
the  methods  of  guerilla  warfare,  and  find  cover 
as  naturally  and  readily  as  an  Afghan  borderer 
and  shoot  as  straight.  In  times  of  jehad,  or  holy 
war,  whole  villages  are  wiped  out,  and  it  is  not  at 
all  uncommon  for  small  parties  of  raiders  to  be 
cut  off  in  a  narrow  valley  and  slain  to  a  man. 

At  Zakho  we  learned  that  the  heavy  rains  had 
so  swollen  the  numerous  streams  of  the  valley 
that  to  cross  them  and  proceed  as  we  had  planned 
across  the  valley  and  up  the  left  bank  of  the 
Tigris  was  impossible.  So  we  decided  to  keep 


204  The  Gate  of  Asia 

along  the  Jebel  Abiad  on  the  southern  side  of  the 
valley  and  strike  the  Tigris  a  day's  march  from 
Zakho  at  the  Christian  village  of  Feish-Khabur. 
It  was  a  very  beautiful  day's  march  for  the  valley 
is  exceedingly  fertile  on  account  of  the  constant 
flow  of  water  from  the  snowy  heights.  The  reason 
it  is  not  populous  is  that  the  people  of  the  less 
favoured  surrounding  country  make  it  a  regular 
raiding  ground.  The  villagers  have  little  enough 
to  steal,  but  even  that  is  carried  away  from  time  to 
time  by  nomad  Kurds,  who  pass  through  every 
year  and  pasture  their  flocks  on  any  crops  not 
directly  under  the  protection  of  some  prominent 
chief,  such  as  Yussuf  Agha  whom  we  saw  at 
Zakho.  Of  course  they  give  the  towns  a  wide 
berth  but  they  are  the  scourge  of  every  small 
hamlet,  especially  if  it  be  Christian. 

The  result  is  that  the  villages  are  few  and 
wretched,  with  no  domestic  animals  except  fierce 
dogs  and  a  few  scrawny  old  hens.  Of  trees  we  saw 
many  for  even  such  a  desolating  whirlwind  as  a 
Kurdish  razzia  respects  them,  except  under 
exceptional  circumstances,  nor  will  it  burn  huts 
or  wantonly  destroy  crops  except  in  the  fiercest 
jehad.  These  trees  are  not  near  the  villages,  al- 
though they  once  were  without  doubt.  The  reason 
for  this  is  that  a  nice  orchard  is  a  charming  place 
to  camp,  and  the  site  of  a  nomad  camp  is  no 
neighbourhood  for  a  village. 

Attracted  by  the  unoccupied  pasture  lands 
were  little  groups  of  tent-dwelling  Yezidis  and 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  205 

gypsies,  miserable  people,  preyed  upon  by  all 
because  of  their  paganism,  who  wander  furtively 
about  with  a  few  sheep,  and  snatch  a  living 
from  the  most  impossible  localities.  They  intro- 
duce a  fresh  linguistic,  racial,  and  religious  compli- 
cation into  this  unhappy  valley,  where  the  Moslem 
persecutes  the  Christian,  the  Christian  the  Jew, 
and  all  unite  to  throw  stones  at  these  poor  spirit 
worshippers,  outcast  for  lack  of  a  book. 

As  we  climbed  the  side  of  the  ridge  at  one  point 
and  wound  around  a  buttress  of  the  mountain  we 
came  upon  a  little  village  hidden  behind  it,  situ- 
ated beside  some  beautiful  springs  of  water,  amid 
unused  pastures.  Here  one  of  our  muleteers, 
while  seeking  information  regarding  the  road,  was 
fiercely  attacked  by  one  of  the  large,  long-haired 
mastiffs  that  frequently  make  these  villages  hid- 
eous, and  was  bitten  clear  through  the  calf  of  one 
leg.  It  was  an  ugly  and  dangerous  wound,  but 
seemed  to  cause  him  no  great  inconvenience,  and 
served  as  an  excuse  for  climbing  on  one  of  the  loads 
when  passing  a  ford. 

Climbing  to  the  ridge  behind  the  valley  we  made 
our  way  along  to  the  point  where  it  is  cut  off  by 
the  Tigris.  The  views  of  the  valley  were  very 
fine,  especially  toward  the  end  where  the  Khabur 
breaks  up  into  a  sort  of  delta  before  flowing 
into  the  larger  river. 

On  the  very  end  of  Jebel  Abiad,  looking  down 
upon  the  same  old  muddy  Tigris  that  we  had  been 
seeing  so  much  of,  was  the  village  of  Feish-Khabur, 


206  The  Gate  of  Asia 

piled  up  in  several  stories  on  a  low  mound.  In  the 
centre  was  a  sort  of  guest  house  whither  we  were 
led,  and  cordially  received  because  of  our  religion. 
We  passed  through  a  low  doorway  into  a  narrow 
court  where  a  group  of  women  were  swinging  a 
goatskin  back  and  forth,  to  separate  the  butter 
from  the  curds  it  contained.  They  were  pleasant 
little  women  in  shapeless  red  "mother  Hubbards, " 
smiling  and  bright-looking,  not  furtive  and  closely 
veiled  like  women  in  the  cities. 

Leaving  our  animals  in  the  court  we  ascended  a 
narrow  flight  of  stone  steps  to  a  long,  well  built 
room  with  a  vaulted  stone  roof  and  large  windows 
looking  out  over  a  part  of  the  village  toward  the 
ridge,  which  was  partly  hidden  by  the  pouring 
rain.  On  each  side  was  a  divan  long  enough  to 
provide  sleeping  place  for  some  ten  persons,  and 
neatly  covered  with  felt  mats  and  padded  quilts 
for  that  purpose.  At  the  far  end  of  the  room  was 
a  fireplace  with  a  rude  chimney.  So  strikingly 
superior  was  this  room  to  any  we  had  seen  in 
Moslem  villages  that  we  could  not  help  remarking 
on  it.  So  large  and  strongly  built  was  the  whole 
building,  also,  that  it  was  virtually  a  fortress 
and  appeared  to  be  the  residence  of  a  large  number 
of  people.  Only  in  the  large  cities  of  this  region 
are  such  substantial  structures  to  be  seen.  The 
furniture  too  was  worthy  of  note,  for  all  of  the 
Moslem  villagers  we  encountered  slept  and  sat  on 
the  ground,  the  only  furniture  anywhere  being 
the  high  benches  used  at  the  coffee-houses,  which 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  207 

we  saw  only  in  towns  much  larger  than  this  village 
of  Feish-Khabur. 

When  we  looked  about  the  village  we  found  the 
houses,  as  a  whole,  much  on  the  usual  pattern — 
rough  stone  walls  and  flat  mud  roofs.  There  is  a 
strongly  built  church  with  square  uncompromising 
walls,  loopholed  at  the  top  and  distinguished  by  a 
belfry.  It  stands  at  the  very  top  of  a  picturesque 
cliff  at  the  foot  of  which  the  Tigris  flows  by  in  oily 
swirling  eddies. 

The  dress  of  these  people  is  very  varied  but 
there  seems  to  be  a  distinct  type  peculiar  to  them. 
One  man  that  acted  as  our  cicerone  and  appeared 
to  be  a  person  of  some  importance  was  dressed  in 
this  style.  His  trousers  were  so  extremely  full 
that  when  he  stood  still  he  appeared  to  be  wearing 
the  Arab  tunic,  or  a  rather  full  petticoat.  They 
were  of  pure  white  cotton,  but  the  vest  above  was 
striped  with  red  and  figured  white.  His  jacket 
was  short -waisted  and  narrow  sleeved,  of  dark  blue 
cloth,  and  on  his  head  he  wore  the  Arab  egal,  a 
diagonally  folded  kerchief  held  in  place  by  a  double 
woollen  circlet.  All  was  immaculately  clean,  a 
feature  rare  enough  in  these  hills  to  excite  atten- 
tion, but  quite  common  among  these  villagers.  His 
face  was  Semitic  but  very  handsome ;  so  cleanly  cut 
were  the  features  and  so  gentle  the  eyes  and  mouth 
that  he  might  have  played  the  Christ  at  Ober- 
ammergau.  Like  most  of  the  people  of  this 
country  he  usually  had  a  cigarette  between  his  lips. 

The  great  size  and  strength  of  the  building  that 


2o8  The  Gate  of  Asia 

I  have  described  has  led  me  to  the  belief  that  it  is 
of  some  antiquity,  and  has  served  as  a  fortress  here 
for  some  time.  The  evident  prosperity  of  the 
people, — Christians  in  this  region  are  generally 
quite  the  contrary, — and  their  peculiarities  in 
dress  and  personal  habits,  also  indicate  that  this  is 
an  old  and  independent  community.  I  should  like 
to  have  an  opportunity  to  really  study  them  and 
find  if  possible  some  record  of  their  history. 

We  received  a  call  from  their  "padre  father, "  a 
priest  of  the  Chaldasan  faith,  a  reverend  old  man 
who  came  with  another  also  in  holy  orders.  From 
them  we  learned  that  the  village  had  no  Turkish 
official,  that  the  land  was  owned  by  the  community 
and  not  by  a  landholder,  as  is  usual  in  Turkey, 
and  that  they  collected  their  own  taxes  and  paid 
them  directly  to  the  Vali.  We  could  not,  however, 
learn  anything  of  the  history  of  the  community. 

The  next  morning  we  started  out  to  cross  the 
Tigris  and  continue  our  journey.  A  steep  path 
leads  by  the  church,  down  among  huge  boulders,  to 
the  foot  of  the  cliff  where  we  entered  a  ferryboat 
and  were  conveyed  across  in  two  trips.  These 
Tigris  ferryboats  are  of  a  very  ancient  pattern. 
They  are  awkward  tubs,  about  half  as  wide  as 
they  are  long,  of  boards  rendered  water-tight  by 
careful  caulking.  The  square  bow  is  low  and 
shelving,  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  gangway  when 
the  boat  is  beached.  The  stern  is  high  and  pointed, 
with  a  post  to  which  is  lashed  a  long  paddle,  a  pole 
with  a  board  nailed  to  the  end  as  a  rule,  by  which 


o 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  209 

the  contrivance  is  steered.  From  a  couple  of  high 
thwarts  in  front  of  the  stern  post  the  "crew" 
work  one  or  two  long  sweeps,  so  as  to  give  steerage 
way,  which  enables  the  craft  to  be  kept  at  an  angle 
to  the  current,  which  sweeps  it  across  sidewise, 
carrying  it  some  way  downstream.  The  process 
seems  most  precarious,  but  accidents  are  rare. 
Its  chief  trouble  is  the  great  length  of  time  required; 
for  the  boat  has  to  be  hauled  up  along  the  bank 
for  a  quarter  or  half  mile  before  each  crossing.  Of 
course  this  is  done  in  a  leisurely  way,  and  when  it 
is  once  accomplished  there  must  be  a  rest.  Em- 
barking the  animals  also  takes  time,  especially 
as  the  loads  have  to  be  removed  and  reloaded  on 
the  other  bank. 

The  present  occasion  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule  and  we  spent  most  of  the  morning  in  reaching 
the  far  side.  There  on  the  bank  was  a  miserable 
village  with  a  few  dilapidated  huts,  near  which  a 
camel  caravan  was  camped.  These  caravans  come 
through  this  country  frequently,  often  making 
their  way  from  Bagdad  to  Diyarbekr  and  thence 
into  Asia  Minor,  reaching  the  railroad  at  Caesarea 
or  Koniah.  But  they  are  not  often  seen  and  never 
stop  at  the  inns  as  mule  and  horse  caravans  do. 
Their  camps  are  in  any  grassy  place  they  may  find 
favourable;  the  loads  are  dumped  on  the  ground 
the  men  lounge  among  them,  and  the  animals  are 
turned  loose  to  graze.  In  this  way  they  cover 
ten  or  twelve  miles  a  day,  living  off  the  country  as 
they  go,  and  transporting  great  loads  of  freight 
14 


210  The  Gate  of  Asia 

for  distances  of  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  miles. 
They  are  always  picturesque;  the  huge  piles  of 
bales,  the  grazing  camels,  and  the  hard-bit  caravan 
men,  form  a  picture  that  will  long  be  remembered. 

As  we  started  on  our  road  we  met  a  strange 
figure.  A  slender,  wasted  man,  he  was,  with  the 
thin  features  and  prominent  mouth  full  of  large 
teeth  that  is  typical  of  the  Somalis:  he  wore  also 
the  dress  of  that  people,  a  white,  square  sheet 
worn  like  a  toga,  and,  as  befitted  a  pilgrim,  a 
great  turban.  He  was  a  pitiful  creature,  weak 
and  shaken  with  fever  and  so  lame  that  he  could 
walk  only  with  a  staff.  But  he  smiled  at  our 
greeting  and  seemed  cheerful  enough  despite  his 
pains,  for  he  had  made  certain  of  his  soul's  sal- 
vation. He  had  made  the  pilgrimage,  from  his 
home  by  the  lower  end  of  the  Red  Sea,  to  Mecca 
and  Medina,  and  thence  to  the  palace  of  the  Kalif 
himself  at  Stambul  (Constantinople).  From 
there  he  was  journeying  homeward,  hoping,  after 
many  weary  days,  to  reach  Bagdad  and  the  tombs 
of  the  holy  Imams — sectarian  differences  were 
nothing  to  him  and  a  shrine  is  always  a  shrine. 
From  Bagdad  it  is  a  journey  of  months  at  best  to 
his  home  on  the  Somali  coast,  but,  Inshallah,  God 
willing,  he  would  win  back  thither,  for  he  trusted 
in  the  greatest  of  talismans,  Rahmat  Ullah,  the 
mercy  of  God. 

We  climbed  some  insignificant  hillocks  and  a 
steep  slope  that  led  to  the  top  of  a  broad  flat 
plateau,  strewn  with  rough  boulders.  It  is  the 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  211 

end  of  a  great  lava  flow  which  in  a  distant  geologi- 
cal period  burst  from  a  crack  in  the  earth's  crust 
and  filled  a  great  valley.  It  is  solid  basalt,  much 
harder  than  the  surrounding  sandstone,  and  so  the 
Tigris  skirts  its  end,  forming  a  bend  across  which 
we  were  cutting.  The  surface  is  nearly  level,  but 
broken  in  places  so  as  to  resemble  the  waves  of  a 
sea.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  grass  upon  it,  grazed 
by  good-sized  flocks  and  herds,  in  charge  of  nomad 
Kurds  whose  groups  of  black  tents  we  frequently 
encountered.  There  were  also  a  few  villages,  but 
poor  and  squalid,  for  their  inhabitants  are  the 
meanest  of  the  mean,  being  the  serfs  belonging  to 
a  powerful  Agha  living  at  Jezireh-ibn-Omar. 

Along  the  way  the  stones  were  often  piled  into 
little  heaps  of  six  or  eight.  At  first  we  supposed 
they  were  intended  to  show  the  road  but  we 
learned  that  was  not  the  case.  They  seem  to  be 
a  sort  of  votive  offering  erected  in  thanksgiving  for 
a  safe  crossing  of  a  ford  or  the  accomplishment  of  a 
certain  distance,  much  as  Jacob  set  up  his  pillar 
at  Bethel.  Other  piles  of  stone  we  encountered 
also,  here  and  elsewhere,  much  larger,  but  always 
of  small  stones  heaped  together  carelessly.  These 
mark  the  grave  of  someone  who  met  his  death 
by  the  way — usually  by  murder — and  are  con- 
stantly added  to  by  passers-by,  each  of  whom 
is  expected  to  add  his  stone  to  the  pile.  Certain 
of  these  places  it  is  unlucky  to  pass  except  to  the 
left  or  the  right,  an  observance  that  our  muleteers 
always  insisted  upon  our  respecting. 


212  The  Gate  of  Asia 

As  the  road  comes  down  again  to  the  Tigris  it  is 
extremely  picturesque  for  the  banks  are  very  steep 
where  the  river  runs  around  the  lip  of  the  great 
basalt  flow.  High  up  along  these  banks  runs  the 
road,  giving  splendid  views  across  the  broad  waters 
toward  Judi  Dagh  and  other  mountains  beyond. 

Thoroughly  drenched  by  the  usual  afternoon 
shower,  and  disturbed  by  the  gradually  falling 
darkness,  our  muleteers  became  discouraged,  and 
wished  to  stop  in  some  village  by  the  way.  But 
we  insisted  on  pressing  on  to  Jezireh-ibn-Omar, 
which  was  our  proposed  stopping  place.  The 
poor  muleteers  raged  and  wept  by  turns,  but  we 
were  obdurate.  A  rapid  little  stream  in  which 
one  of  the  animals  fell  among  rolling  rocks  and 
quicksand  took  the  last  bit  of  fight  out  of  them  and 
we  had  to  take  entire  charge.  We  got  the  poor 
mule  out  by  placing  one  man  at  its  halter,  one  at 
its  tail,  and  one  at  each  side  of  the  pack.  At 
the  word  all  lifted  at  once  and  the  struggling  feet 
would  do  their  duty  for  a  few  yards.  Then  down 
would  go  the  beast  again  and  the  operation  would 
have  to  be  repeated,  until  he  finally  got  his  feet  on 
the  bank.  Then  we  hurried  things  up  and  listened 
to  no  complaints  despite  the  stories  of  swollen 
streams  and  a  broken  bridge. 

Down  we  came  to  the  bed  of  the  river  and 
made  our  way  in  the  dark  amid  rocks  and  a  few 
walled  gardens  nestled  under  the  high  bank.  There 
were  several  streams  that  had  to  be  forded  but 
we  got  all  across  in  safety,  no  small  feat,  for  the 


The  Hakkiari  Kurds  213 

animals  were  weary,  the  streams  deep  and  treacher- 
ous, and  the  men  sure  we  were  tempting  an  awful 
fate. 

About  eight  o'clock,  we  came  down  to  a  shallow 
canal  spanned  by  the  broken  bridge  about  which 
we  had  heard  so  much.  Beyond,  the  min- 
arets and  domes  of  the  little  town  of  Jezireh- 
ibn-Omar  lay  black  against  a  sky  that  was  lighted 
to  a  pale  grey  by  a  clouded  moon.  We  splashed 
our  way  across  and  a  zaptieh  led  us  through  pitch 
dark  streets,  swarming  with  barking  dogs,  to  the 
inn.  Here  we  hammered  on  the  door,  but  could 
get  no  admittance.  The  inn  was  occupied  by 
certain  chiefs,  the  emirs  of  Bhotan  and  some  of 
their  neighbours,  who  were  planning  a  revolt 
against  the  Turks.  Their  permission  must  be  ob- 
tained before  we  were  admitted.  A  man  with  a 
gun  watched  us  to  see  that  we  stayed  out,  and  our 
zaptieh  slunk  off  to  the  local  police  post,  which  had 
not  yet  been  disturbed  by  the  incipient  revolt. 

At  last  we  were  admitted  and  rode  into  a  small 
court-yard  flooded  with  water  and  crowded  with 
animals.  The  few  decent  rooms  that  the  place 
boasted  were  of  course  occupied  by  the  revolution- 
ary chiefs,  and  we  were  compelled  to  seek  what 
shelter  we  could.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  pitch 
a  tent.  We  were  hungry  and  tired,  quite  ready 
to  crawl  into  any  hole  that  we  could  find.  This 
proved  to  be  a  mud- walled  room  on  one  side  of  the 
yard,  with  a  flooded,  sunken  floor  and  a  large  pile 
of  very  malodorous  sheepskins.  We  flung  open 


214  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  door  and  removed  the  stones  that  blocked  the 
tiny  window.  Then  we  sought  something  to  raise 
us  above  the  puddle  in  the  floor.  Edwin  Warfield 
found  one  of  the  benches  used  in  these  inns  by 
those  who  gather  to  gossip  over  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
water-pipe.  It  had  only  three  legs  and  sagged  in 
the  middle,  but  he  thought  it  was  lovely.  I 
removed  the  door  and  set  it  across  two  of  our  pack 
boxes  and  spread  my  sleeping-bag  on  that.  Unfor- 
tunately my  hip  kept  slipping  into  the  very  large 
and  much-patched  keyhole  at  intervals  throughout 
the  night.  Every  time  either  of  us  awoke  he  had  a 
vivid  reminder  of  the  unwelcome  pile  of  sheep- 
skins. 


CHAPTER  X 

THROUGH  THE  GORGES  OF  THE  TIGRIS  TO 
ARMENIA 

JEZIREH-IBN-OMAR  was  once  a  city  of  no 
little  importance  but  it  has  shared  the  fate 
of  all  the  cities  of  this  region  and  is  but  a  shadow 
of  its  former  self.  It  is  built  largely  of  black 
basalt  rock,  but  a  good  deal  of  white  limestone  is 
used,  especially  in  combination  with  the  basalt. 
It  stands  upon  a  short  promontory,  protected  on 
the  land  side  by  the  canal  we  had  forded  in  the 
dark.  This  moat  is  a  splendid  breeding  ground 
for  mosquitoes,  which  have  given  the  place  a 
reputation  for  fever. 

The  people  are  of  mixed  races  but  largely 
Hakkiari  Kurds,  whose  costume  is  the  common  one 
on  the  streets.  Of  Arabs  there  are  many,  for  that 
people  once  was  dominant  in  this  region,  and  may 
have  furnished  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  this 
very  place,  which  bears  an  Arabic  name  given  it  in 
the  seventh  century.  There  are  also  Christians 
living  in  the  city,  both  Chaldaeans  and  Jacobites. 
The  former  have  a  bishop  to  look  after  them  but 
he  has  been  quite  helpless  to  protect  them  from 

215 


216  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  fierce  mountain  chiefs  of  the  neighbourhood 
and  the  rascally  Moslems  of  the  town.  So  much 
have  they  been  preyed  upon  and  massacred  that 
they  are  now  reduced  to  a  mean  and  crafty  com- 
munity of  cringing,  cowering  swindlers.  The 
dealers  in  the  bazaars  are  mostly  Kurds,  as  are  the 
artisans  and  tradesmen. 

The  chief  Turkish  official  is  a  Kaimakam  who 
can  do  nothing  in  the  face  of  the  Kurdish  chiefs. 
When  we  were  there  he  did  not  dare  to  appear  on 
the  street  and  was  soon  after  sent  packing  by  the 
men  who  had  been  our  fellow-guests  at  the  inn. 

Some  twenty  years  ago  the  chief  of  these  ruffians 
was  one  Mustafa  Pasha,  the  chief  of  a  neighbouring 
Kurdish  village  whom  the  Sultan  removed  from 
the  local  jail  and  made  commander  of  a  division  of 
the  Hamidieh,  the  irregular  Kurdish  cavalry.  In 
this  position  he  so  distinguished  himself  that  he 
earned  the  hatred  of  all  his  neighbours,  the  love 
and  respect  of  Abdul-Hamid,  and  the  devotion 
of  his  own  wild  horsemen.  With  a  neighbouring 
Arab  chief,  Ibn-Faris,  he  carried  fire  and  sword 
into  the  country  to  the  west  of  the  city,  which  was 
entirely  Christian,  and  utterly  depopulated  a 
large  and  fertile  region,  reducing  it  to  an  absolute 
desert,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  insatiable 
Abdul-Hamid.  When  he  got  too  dangerous,  how- 
ever, that  gentleman  kept  him  within  bounds  by 
setting  him  to  fight  his  own  people  in  the  moun- 
tains. In  this  way  he  came  to  be  at  deadly  feud 
with  the  Shernakh  Kurds  who  live  to  the  south  of 


2 
3 


w 

"o 
a 
o 
O 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          217 

Lake  Van,  and  it  was  through  them  that  the  old 
rascal  met  his  death. 

It  was  his  custom  to  lead  his  people  to  the 
shores  of  the  lake  for  the  sake  of  pasturage,  which 
they  took,  willy-nilly,  from  the  Armenians  upon 
whom  the  Kurds  quartered  themselves  the  while. 
After  a  season  marked  by  particularly  offensive  be- 
haviour and  many  shocking  atrocities,  in  the  year 
1902,  the  invaders  were  making  their  way  home 
through  the  country  of  their  enemies  the  Shernakh 
Kurds.  These  people  were  ready  for  them  and, 
though  far  inferior  in  numbers,  kept  up  a  running 
fight  on  Mustafa's  party,  which  was  impeded  by  its 
women  folk,  live  stock,  and  loot.  At  length  Mus- 
tafa himself  led  a  body  of  men  against  a  particu- 
larly daring  picquet  of  the  enemy,  which  retreated 
before  him,  firing  as  they  went.  Thinking  that  he 
had  cleaned  out  that  nest  of  hornets  he  paused 
for  a  moment  to  eat,  but  the  pause  was  fatal,  for 
as  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  he  was  hit 
in  the  head  by  a  bullet  fired  by  the  retreating 
party  and  instantly  killed. 

His  body  was  brought  to  Jezireh,  where  it  was 
buried  in  a  tomb  of  the  usual  mean  rubble 
and  plaster  construction.  Before  it  the  Sultan 
had  a  bronze  equestrian  statue  set  up,  to  show  how 
he  delighted  to  honour  those  who  did  his  dirty 
work,  even  though  he  might  be  to  some  extent 
responsible  for  their  death.  The  tomb  became  an 
object  of  so  much  opprobrium  from  the  oppressed 
townspeople  that  a  guard  had  to  be  set  over  it. 


218  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Even  so  no  one  passed  it  without  cursing  and 
spitting  upon  it.  As  might  be  expected  the  statue 
was  torn  down  as  soon  as  Abdul-Hamid  was 
deposed,  and  the  tomb  reduced  to  ruins. 

During  his  lifetime  the  town  of  Jezireh  was 
ruled  by  his  nephew,  a  man  of  typical  Kurdish 
character,  who  used  his  power  to  exercise  his 
coarse  and  brutal  sense  of  humour.  He  used 
to  hold  wild  carousings  with  his  intimates,  sending 
his  armed  retainers  to  the  bazaars  or  the  fields 
for  such  things  as  were  necessary,  on  the  theory 
that  the  honour  of  providing  for  such  a  gallant 
man  as  he  was  sufficient  payment  for  any  one.  At 
these  feasts  he  was  wont  to  call  in  some  of  the 
holiest  and  gravest  mollahs  and  make  them  dance 
while  he  and  his  tribesmen  shouted  a  wild  accom- 
paniment. After  one  of  the  wildest  of  his  merry- 
makings he  forced  liquor  down  the  throats  of 
certain  descendants  of  the  Prophet  and  rolled 
them  in  the  mud,  turning  them  out  thereafter  into 
the  street,  where  they  were  pelted  by  the  mob 
and  for  ever  shamed.  The  victims  of  these  jolly 
Kurdish  pranks  were  chiefly  Arabs,  a  people 
peculiarly  ill  fitted  for  seeing  that  kind  of  a  joke. 

The  history  of  Jezireh  goes  back  to  Roman  times 
when  the  place  was  called  Bezabde.  In  those  days 
there  was  a  bridge  here  with  a  strong  fortress  on 
the  site  of  the  town  and  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bridge,  where  there  is  a  village  today  that  still 
bears  the  ancient  name,  pronounced  Bezabda. 
One  arch  of  a  bridge  still  stands  which  may  be  part 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          219 

of  the  very  structure  that  the  Persian  King  Sapor 
II.  captured  on  his  way  to  the  sack  of  Diyarbekr 
in  360  A.D.  If  so  the  Emperor  Julian  also  crossed 
it  two  centuries  later  on  his  way  to  attack  another 
Sapor  in  his  capital  at  Ctesiphon.  Unfortunately 
there  are  no  inscriptions  on  the  bridge  older  than 
Mohammedan  times,  and  the  few  that  are  of  that 
period  give  us  no  historical  information.  They 
are  to  be  seen  on  some  curious  white  limestone 
reliefs,  set  in  the  black  basalt  stonework  of  one  of 
the  piers,  and  the  only  information  each  conveys 
is  the  name  of  the  sign  of  the  zodiac  represented 
by  the  relief  on  which  it  appears.  It  is  quite 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  bridge  itself  does 
not  antedate  these  reliefs,  but  was  built  in  the  days 
of  the  Kalifate.  If  this  be  so  the  older  bridge  must 
have  been  swept  away.  Be  that  as  it  may  the 
ruins  of  this  old  arch  remain  today  to  illustrate 
the  incompetence  of  the  Turk,  who  has  succeeded 
in  providing  no  more  permanent  means  of  crossing 
than  a  bridge  of  boats,  which  could  be  used  only  in 
summer  and  had  entirely  disappeared  at  the  time 
of  our  visit. 

Jezireh  boasts  the  ruins  of  a  castle,  partly 
Roman,  partly  Arab,  which  has  been  many  times 
besieged,  by  Persian,  Roman,  Byzantine,  Mongol, 
Turk,  Kurd,  and  Arab.  It  harboured  the  Emperor 
Trajan  in  the  second  century  of  our  era,  when  he 
built  there  a  fleet  of  boats  with  which  to  carry  out 
his  campaign  against  the  Parthians,  who  then  held 
Babylon  as  their  capital.  An  older  fortress  stood 


220  The  Gate  of  Asia 

on  the  same  site,  an  outpost  of  the  Assyrian  Empire, 
whose  kings  only  rarely  penetrated  beyond,  into 
mountainous  Urartu,  the  modern  Armenia. 

Opposite  Jezireh  rise  the  slopes  of  Jebel  Judi,  the 
mountain  upon  which  the  people  of  this  region 
believe  the  ark  of  Noah  was  stranded  upon  the 
subsidence  of  the  waters.  The  peak  we  know  as 
Ararat  has  been  so  named  by  the  Armenians,  and 
regarded  by  them  only  as  Noah's  landing  place. 
The  Koran  mentions  Jebel  Judi,  and  this  is  not  a 
contradiction  to  the  biblical  account  but  a  more 
accurate  specification,  for  the  word  Ararat  referred 
not  to  any  particular  peak,  but  to  the  whole 
mountain  region  of  Kurdistan  and  Armenia,  for  it 
is  identical  with  the  word  Urartu.  The  ancient 
Chaldaeans  and  Assyrians  also  looked  upon  Judi  as 
the  real  place.  They  had  there  a  ziaret,  a  high 
place,  where  sacrifices  were  held  yearly,  and  this 
custom  is  carried  out  today  among  all  the  races 
and  religions  of  the  surrounding  lands. 

September  I4th,  according  to  our  calendar, 
which  in  Turkey  is  the  first  day  of  the  month  Ilul,  is 
the  date  of  the  "Sacrifice  of  Noah, "  -when  all 
feuds  sleep  and  a  sort  of  pax  religiosa  is  universally 
recognized.  Kurds,  Christians  of  all  sects,  Jews, 
Sabasans,  and  even  outcast  Yezidis,  all  gather 
together  and  unite  to  send  toward  heaven  the 
smoke  of  a  great  sacrifice,  commemorating  an 
event  older  than  any  of  their  differences.  They 
dwell  in  a  building  that  stands  on  the  summit,  and 
is  nothing  but  a  great  complex  of  roofless  huts, 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          221 

with  walls  of  roughly  laid  boulders.  Over  this  the 
pilgrims  spread  black  tent-cloth  as  a  temporary 
roof,  and  live  together  without  jealousy  during  the 
period  of  the  sacrifice,  Shia  and  Sunni,  Chaldaean 
and  Jacobite.  Nestorians  from  Tyari  worship 
side  by  side  with  Barzan  and  Bohtn  Kurds, 
against  whom  they  are  at  deadly  feud ;  Chaldaean 
villagers  from  the  Khabur  valley  dwell  here  in  the 
"ship  of  Noah"  with  the  plundering  nomads  who 
drive  off  their  flocks,  destroy  their  crops,  and  burn 
their  very  rooftrees  over  their  heads. 

This  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  fact  that 
these  quarrels  are  social  and  political  rather  than 
religious.  In  this  part  of  the  East  religion  is  a 
matter  of  race  not  of  conviction.  The  Kurd  is 
necessarily  a  Moslem;  the  Armenian  professes 
always  the  faith  of  his  people;  to  be  an  Assyrian 
is  to  be  a  Christian ;  the  Hebrew  is  always  a  Jew ; 
and  as  for  the  Yezidi,  poor  fellow,  he  realizes  it 
is  degrading  to  worship  the  devil,  he  is  ashamed 
of  his  god,  and  looks  forward  to  a  mean  reward  in 
the  life  to  come,  yet  he  holds  to  his  religion  with 
the  utmost  heroism,  for  it  was  the  faith  of  his 
fathers  and  his  race  consciousness  forbids  him  to 
forswear  it.  So  the  feud  between  the  Nestorians 
and  the  Kurds  is  really  the  ancient  struggle  between 
Aryan  and  Semite,  the  Mede  and  the  Assyrian, 
that  began  in  the  days  of  Cyrus  and  Belshazzar. 
When  Abdul-Hamid  felt  that  his  exchequer  was 
suffering  from  the  wealth  of  the  Armenians  he 
started  a  massacre,  not  because  he  was  anti- 


222  1  he  Gate  of  Asia 

Christian  but  because  he  was  anti-Armenian. 
This  fact  is  sufficiently  shown  by  the  fact  that  in 
places  like  Diyarbekr  where  there  were  both 
Chaldasans  and  Armenians,  the  former,  though 
equally  Christian,  were  untouched;  and  when  re- 
fugees from  among  the  latter  took  sanctuary 
in  the  Chaldaean  cathedral  they  were  not  disturbed, 
though  their  own  churches  were  burned  over  their 
heads.  The  reason  that  these  quarrels  are  so 
largely  on  a  religious  basis  is  that  the  simplest  way 
to  make  trouble  and  to  arouse  racial  hatreds,  here 
and  in  all  the  East,  is  to  call  upon  the  name  of 
God. 

We  may  go  a  step  farther  and  inquire  the  reason 
why  differences  in  religion  should  be  so  nicely 
adjusted  that  racial  rivalry  can  be  constantly 
cloaked  by  religious  zeal.  It  is  because  Christian- 
ity took  root  among  the  older  and  more  settled 
peoples,  who  are  therefore  the  more  experienced  in 
commerce  and  agriculture,  to  which  class  the 
Hebrew  also  belongs.  These  people  are  there- 
fore constantly  getting  the  better  of  their  Moslem 
conquerors.  The  agriculturist  is  always  better 
off  than  the  nomad,  therefore  the  latter  plunders 
him  and,  as  excuse,  invokes  the  name  of  Allah. 
The  Turk  whose  ancestors  wandered  in  the  deserts 
of  Persia  only  a  few  generations  ago  cannot 
compete  financially  or  commercially  with  the 
Armenian,  so  he  massacres  him,  rousing  the  ca- 
naille for  the  work  in  the  name  of  Islam. 

It  is  not  remarkable,  therefore,  when  a  religious 


bfl 

H 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          223 

question  occupies  the  centre  of  the  stage,  and  not 
a  political,  that  sectarian  disagreements  should  be 
forgotten  and  all  should  unite  in  a  common  prayer. 
I  have  already  described  the  praying  for  rain 
at  Mosul  when  all  the  people  gathered  at  the 
shrine  of  Jonah,  regardless  of  race  or  faith.  This 
was  not  an  isolated  instance  but  is  quite  usual 
under  such  circumstances. 

In  the  spring  of  the  great  massacres  at  Adana, 
Van,  and  elsewhere,  there  was  a  gathering  of  all 
religions  at  a  particularly  sacred  shrine  near 
Kharput — seven  days'  journey  west  of  Jezireh — 
where  a  noted  mollah  addressed  them.  He  said 
that,  whether  following  Mohammed,  Moses,  or 
Jesus,  they  were  children  of  one  God,  and  in  time 
of  famine  it  was  meet  that  they  should  forget 
their  differences  and  unite  their  prayers  to  the 
common  father  to  avert  the  danger  that  threatened 
all.  It  is  difficult  at  first  glance  to  understand  the 
workings  of  a  mind  that  condones  slaughter  for 
religious  differences  in  time  of  prosperity,  and 
pronounces  such  sentiments  as  these  in  time  of 
need.  But  it  can  be  done  if  we  are  careful  to 
separate  racial  phenomena  that  are  disguised  as 
religious,  and  those  phenomena  that  are  really 
religious. 

Down  at  the  foot  of  Jebel  Judi  is  the  village 
called  Thamania,  the  eighty,  built  by  Noah  and  his 
companions  when  they  emerged  from  the  ark,  and 
called  by  the  number  which  tradition  ascribes  to 
them.  Near  it  is  Noah's  tomb  and  his  vineyard, 


224  The  Gate  of  Asia 

sad  memorial  of  an  unfortunate  occasion  which  has 
proved  an  excellent  lesson  to  the  present  owners, 
who  do  not  make  wine  from  the  grapes,  but  a  kind 
of  treacle  which  is  highly  esteemed  in  this  region. 
Here  are  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  old  story, 
even  the  mountain,  the  nearby  Jebel  Sinjar,  upon 
which  the  ark  is  said  to  have  scraped  its  bottom 
before  it  finally  grounded. 

From  Jezireh  we  pursued  our  journey  up  the 
right — here  the  southern — bank  of  the  Tigris. 
We  were  still  on  the  edge  of  the  basalt  while 
across  the  river  were  high,  bare  hills  of  steeply  tilted 
limestone  and  sandstone  strata.  We  made  our 
way  along  a  high  and  very  steep  bank  of  clay, 
often  with  cliffs  of  columnar  basalt  above.  These 
had  been  undermined  in  places  and  covered 
the  bank  with  tremendous  blocks.  The  path  was 
very  narrow  and  in  places  quite  washed  away, 
while  the  whole  bank  was  so  soaked  with  water 
that  it  offered  only  the  most  dangerous  footing. 
Mud  was  so  deep  in  places  that  the  mules  sank 
to  their  knees.  We  constantly  expected  some 
animal  to  slip  and  fall  down  the  bank,  and  so  were 
not  surprised  when  one  of  them  actually  did  lose 
his  footing  and  roll  over  and  over  down  toward 
the  river.  He  would  roll  over  on  his  back  with  his 
heels  waving  helplessly  in  the  air;  then  his  pack 
would  come  up  and  he  would  go  over  again,  while 
the  rapid  yellow  Tigris  was  rushing  and  swirling 
below.  Fortunately  he  brought  up  against  a  rock 
and  we  were  able  to  get  his  pack  off  and  haul  him 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          225 

up  again  to  the  path,  where  he  was  repacked  and 
led  on  in  safety. 

After  some  ten  miles  of  this  sort  of  going,  we 
came  down  to  a  broad  stretch  of  fields  and  trees, 
entirely  surrounded  by  hills.  Into  it  the  river 
flows  through  a  wall  of  basalt  and  opposite  are  the 
high  jagged  hills  known  to  Xenophon  as  the 
mountains  of  the  Carduchi,  the  mountain  barrier 
that  separates  Armenia  from  Mesopotamia.  This 
place  is  the  mouth  of  the  great  gorge  cut  by  the 
Tigris  in  the  basalt  flow  which  extends  toward 
the  south  for  many  a  mile,  forming  the  plateau  of 
Jebel  Tur,  or  more  properly  Tur  Abdin,  the 
"Mountain  of  the  Servants  (of  God),"  one  of  the 
strongholds  of  the  eastern  Christian  church. 
The  flat  fertile  area  is  the  silt  deposited  at  the 
mouth  of  the  gorge  by  a  river  whose  current  is  no 
longer  able  to  carry  it.  To  this  point  came  Xeno- 
phon and  his  ten  thousand  Greeks  on  their  famous 
retreat  from  the  defeat  at  Cunaxa.  These  men 
were  mercenary  troops  in  the  pay  of  Cyrus  the 
Younger,  whose  brother  Artaxerxes  occupied 
the  throne  of  Persia.  It  was  to  oust  him  that 
Cyrus  led  his  army  of  over  a  hundred  thousand 
men  across  Asia  Minor  and  down  the  Euphrates 
against  Babylon.  Some  distance  north  of  that 
city  he  encountered  his  brother's  forces  and  would 
have  been  victorious  had  he  not  been  killed.  As 
was  customary  under  such  circumstances  his  Orien- 
tal troops  immediately  went  over  to  the  King,  but 
no  such  course  was  open  to  the  Greeks,  who  re- 
is 


226  The  Gate  of  Asia 

treated  northward,  up  the  Tigris,  with  the  com- 
bined armies  against  them.  Crossing  the  river  well 
above  the  site  of  modern  Bagdad  they  came 
to  the  Great  Zab,  where  the  Persian  general 
Tissaphernes  called  their  generals  into  his  camp 
to  arrange  terms  of  peace.  They  went  in  full 
confidence  and  were  slaughtered  out  of  hand. 

It  is  at  this  moment  that  Xenophon  comes  into 
prominence,  for,  there  by  the  clear  cold  waters  of 
the  Zab,  he  was  elected  to  command  the  little  body 
and  lead  them  to  the  sea.  Up  the  river  they  went 
in  search  of  a  ford,  crossing  it  doubtless  where  the 
road  crossed  that  ran  from  Arbela  to  Nineveh — 
exactly  where  we  crossed  it  on  our  way  to  Mosul. 
Passing  the  ruins  of  Nineveh,  which  they  did  not 
recognize,  they  marched  on  until  they  came  to  a 
"place  where  the  Tigris  was  quite  impassable  on 
account  of  its  depth  and  width,  and  where  there 
was  no  passage  along  its  banks,  for  the  mountains 
of  the  Carduchi  hung  steep  over  the  stream." 
So  they  had  to  leave  the  river  and  strike  off  north- 
ward over  these  very  mountains,  and  the  point 
from  which  they  turned  was  that  broad  open  place 
at  the  mouth  of  the  gorge  where  we  prepared  to 
cross  in  a  ferryboat,  under  the  ancient  village  of 
Phcenice,  which  today  is  called  Finik. 

As  for  the  Greeks,  they  preceded  us  into  the  hills, 
with  Cheirisophus  leading  the  light  infantry  in 
advance,  while  Xenophon  brought  up  the  rear 
with  the  hoplites.  All  the  way  to  the  end  of  the 
valley  of  Bitlis  we  followed  them, — five  days' 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          227 

journey  as  we  travelled, — and  then  turned  off  to 
the  right  to  the  lake  of  Van.  They,  however,  con- 
tinued to  march  northward,  down  the  valley  of 
Mush,  and  so  on  across  mountain  and  valley  until 
they  reached  the  Black  Sea  near  Trebizond.  From 
there  it  was  no  difficult  journey  back  to  the  shores 
of  the  ^Egean,  where  they  completed  the  most 
dramatic  incident  in  the  military  history  of  these 
lands. 

At  the  ferry  that  crosses  here  at  Finik  we  found  a 
picturesque  crowd  waiting  to  cross  and  were  delayed 
some  time.  We  wiled  away  the  time  m  speech 
with  a  Christian  merchant,  dressed  d  la  Franga, 
who  spoke  French.  He  dealt  in  wool  and  sheep- 
skins chiefly  and — he  whispered  in  confidence — a 
little  smuggled  tobacco,  now  and  then. 

On  the  other  side  were  groves  of  apricot  and 
pomegranate  and  stone-walled  fields,  and  beyond 
them  a  crag  crowned  with  an  imposing  castle 
that  has  been  held  by  garrisons  of  Assyrians, 
Armenians,  Romans,  Parthians,  Persians,  and 
doubtless  also  of  Kurds,  Arabs,  and  Turks.  At 
its  foot  are  other  ruins  and  still  more  are  to  be 
found  on  every  commanding  hill ;  for  this  spot  is  the 
most  central  point  in  the  upper  Tigris  valley  and 
has  been  upon  the  frontiers  of  many  empires. 

The  castle-crowned  crag  contains  the  village  of 
Finik  which  gives  its  name  to  the  ferry.  Its 
people  are  almost  entirely  of  troglodyte  habit,  for 
they  live  in  caves  hewn  in  the  rock  in  very  ancient 
times,  caves  that  look  out  from  the  rock  like 


228  The  Gate  of  Asia 

windows  overhanging  the  Tigris.  Layard  thought 
they  were  tombs,  but  they  are  so  inaccessible  from 
any  point  below,  and  so  excellently  situated  to 
command  the  valley  from  a  military  point  of  view, 
that  they  seem  to  me  to  have  been  intended  rather 
as  abodes  for  the  living,  more  specifically  as 
quarters  for  a  garrison.  Much  the  same  arrange- 
ment is  to  be  seen  in  the  crags  at  Van,  and  at  many 
other  centres  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  have 
always  been  fortresses.  On  account  of  this  analogy 
I  am  convinced  that  these  chambers  are  the  work 
of  the  Urartians,  of  whose  kingdom  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  speak  in  connection  with  their  capital 
city  of  Van.  This  village  of  Finik  was  doubtless 
a  fortress  of  those  people  during  their  struggle 
against  the  Assyrians,  who  certainly  must  have 
come  by  this  road  when  they  attacked  Van.  That 
these  caves  were  there  then  I  do  not  doubt  and 
therefore  date  them  eight  or  nine  centuries  B.C. 
Upon  these  rocks  of  Finik  are  also  the  remains 
of  Parthian  reliefs  dating  from  the  beginning  of 
the  Christian  era. 

When  our  animals  had  crossed  in  the  old  tub 
that  served  as  a  ferryboat,  we  set  out  to  follow 
Xenophon  into  the  country  of  the  Carduchi.  We 
rode  through  the  pomegranate  groves  under  the 
cliff  where  the  black  cliff-dwellings  of  Finik 
stared  out,  far  above  our  heads. 

Soon  the  path  became  rougher  and  steeper,  then 
almost  precipitous,  and  we  began  to  climb  the  ridge 
that  borders  the  valley  and  rises  to  a  height  of  over 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          229 

3500  feet,  while  the  river  itself  is  only  1200.  The 
mountain  is  chiefly  white  limestone  and  the  cliff 
we  had  to  climb  was  weathered  smooth  and  quite 
slippery  with  the  rain  that  began  to  fall  as  we  left 
the  river.  Loose  boulders  added  to  our  difficulties 
and  there  was  no  road  whatever,  only  an  occasional 
scratch  on  the  rock  made  by  the  hoofs  of  animals 
that  had  preceded  us.  Most  of  the  steep  places 
were  bare  of  vegetation,  but  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  scrub  oak  in  sheltered  localities.  This  plant  is 
valuable  for  the  acorns,  which  are  edible,  and  the 
galls,  from  which  dyes  are  made. 

Up  the  steep  slope  the  pack  animals  had  to  be 
pushed  and  pulled  with  much  yelling,  cursing,  and 
complaining  on  the  part  of  our  gallant  muleteers. 
One  of  them  fairly  burst  into  tears  when  his  fav- 
ourite mule  fell  and  wedged  his  pack  between  two 
rocks  so  firmly  that  he  was  quite  helpless  and  all  the 
efforts  of  his  master  at  the  halter  were  of  no  avail. 
Only  two  men  could  get  at  the  fallen  creature  at 
once  but  they  managed  to  dislocate  him  at  last. 
The  man  at  the  tail  would  jerk  upward  and  for- 
ward, then  the  man  at  the  halter  would  do  the 
same,  seesawing  the  animal  along  like  the  walking- 
beam  of  a  paddlewheel  steamer.  Once  out  of  his 
predicament  the  mule  shook  himself  well,  slipped 
the  loosened  pack  off  his  back,  and  tackled  the 
next  slope.  Then  followed  more  shouting,  much 
bad  language,  and  strenuous  grunts  as  the  pack 
was  lashed  firmly  in  place  again. 

At  last  we  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  and 


230  The  Gate  of  Asia 

went  on  over  its  top  by  a  fairly  well-marked  path 
that  runs  amid  boulders  and  hawthorn  scrub. 
Just  as  the  sun  was  setting  we  rounded  the  western 
end  of  the  mountain  and  came  into  a  wide,  semi- 
circular theatre,  bounded  by  sharp  cliffs  but  look- 
ing out  toward  the  west  over  the  flat  top  of  the 
great  lake  of  basalt,  the  Tur  Abdin,  and  the  ravine 
cut  through  it  by  the  Tigris.  The  clouds  had 
fortunately  lifted  and  we  could  see  across  the 
plateau  for  miles.  It  is  like  a  great  sea  with 
islands  here  and  there  which  were  mountains 
around  which  the  lava  flowed  when  it  emerged 
from  some  huge  crack  in  the  surface  and  filled  the 
valleys  about  their  bases. 

Across  the  top  of  this  plateau  the  Tigris  once 
ran,  falling  over  the  edge  at  Finik  in  a  great  water- 
fall. But  it  soon  began  to  cut  back,  and  so  formed 
the  gorge  which  lay  spread  out  before  us.  Still  it 
is  constantly  labouring  to  upset  the  balance  of  na- 
ture by  piling  up  sediment  in  the  lower  valleys. 
Year  by  year  it  is  extending  the  dry  land  farther 
and  farther  into  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  raising  the 
level  of  Mesopotamia.  It  is  this  great  weight  of 
sediment  that  caused  the  earth's  crust  to  buckle, 
and  formed  the  fissure  from  which  came  the  lava 
flow  that  now  contributes  its  share  of  sediment  and 
will  continue  to  do  so  until  the  stress  again  be- 
comes too  great.  Then  there  will  be  a  renewal  of 
volcanic  activity  in  this  already  heavily  scarred 
land  until  a  true  balance  is  restored. 

The  village  that  stands  in  the  centre  of  this 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          231 

mountain  theatre  is  called  Fenduk,  and  there  we 
stopped  for  the  night.  It  was  a  typical  Hakkiari 
village,  climbing  up  a  steep  slope,  with  tiers  of 
houses  arranged  like  steps.  So  close  is  this  re- 
semblance that  each  man's  roof  serves  as  a  front 
yard  for  his  neighbour  above,  while  he  himself 
drives  his  cattle  out  on  the  roof  of  his  lower 
neighbour,  whence  they  jump  down  to  the  next 
roof  and  the  next  and  so  reach  the  stream  that 
furnishes  the  water-supply,  which  is  almost  always 
below,  where  it  receives  all  the  village  drainage. 
The  walls  are  of  roughly  laid  stone  and  the  roofs 
of  poles  and  brushwood  covered  with  mud.  When- 
ever the  sun  is  hot  the  roof  bakes  and  cracks,  so  a 
stone  roller  is  always  at  hand  to  render  it  water- 
tight when  rain  threatens.  On  each  roof  is  a  ladder 
leading  up  to  the  next,  made  either  by  cutting 
notches  in  a  pole,  nailing  slats  across  it,  or  simply 
cutting  off  the  branches  six  inches  from  the  trunk 
of  a  small  tree  and  using  the  butts  for  steps.  A 
Kurdish  matron  usually  does  her  cooking  on  her 
neighbour's  roof  and  spreads  out  her  laundry 
upon  it. 

There  was  no  inn  in  the  village,  but  we  found  a 
place  to  stable  our  horses,  a  long  low  building  in 
bad  repair,  such  as  is  usually  provided  for  strangers 
in  a  Kurdish  village.  We  ourselves  climbed  up 
over  several  roofs  and  found  lodging  in  the  house 
of  one  of  the  chief  men.  He  with  his  wife  and 
children  slept  in  an  inner  room — furnished  only 
with  felt  mats  and  a  few  quilts ;  we  slept  in  a  front 


232  The  Gate  of  Asia 

room  adjoining  another  which  was  occupied  by  a 
donkey,  two  cows,  and  several  goats  and  sheep; 
outside  the  door  was  a  sort  of  covered  porch  where 
Asoufi  and  the  zaptiehs  made  themselves  comfort- 
able. As  soon  as  we  arrived  we  began  to  have 
callers,  and  before  long  the  wall  was  lined  with 
stolid-faced  men  in  the  picturesque  mountain 
costume.  They  were  quiet  and  courteous,  however, 
and  we  could  get  them  to  talk  but  little,  answering 
all  questions  by  yes  and  no.  Our  field  of  conver- 
sation was  limited,  for  they  spoke  only  their 
native  language. 

When  we  had  dined,  they  left  us  and  we  spread 
our  sleeping-bags  side  by  side  on  the  floor  as  was 
our  custom.  During  the  night  our  rest  was 
broken  by  two  squalling  cats  that  indulged  in  a 
fight  on  our  feet,  and  had  it  out,  back  and  forth, 
until  driven  off  by  an  avalanche  of  boots.  These 
animals  are  quite  common  in  this  country  and 
often  great  pets.  It  is  a  very  strange  sight  to  see  a 
fiercely  mustachioed  Kurd,  with  a  silver-mounted 
dagger  in-  his  belt,  and  a  double  row  of  rifle  car- 
tridges around  his  waist,  gently  stroking  a  purring 
pussy,  and  addressing  serious  remarks  to  it  in  his 
guttural  language.  I  have  seen  such  a  man  take 
out  a  cartridge  from  his  belt  and  roll  it  across  the 
floor  for  the  cat  to  pursue,  doing  it  all  with  the 
gravest  dignity  as  if  it  were  some  solemn  obli- 
gation. This  affection  for  the  feline  race  was  not 
shared  by  Edwin  Warfield,  who  was  ever  seeking 
some  means  of  excluding  them  from  his  society. 


a 
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3 

CG 


O 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          233 

One  night  he  set  a  bucket  of  water  in  the  doorway 
of  the  room  in  which  we  slept,  in  the  hope  that  it. 
would  prove  an  obstacle  to  their  entrance.  Some 
hours  later  he  awoke  and  glanced  toward  the  door. 
A  beam  of  moonlight  lit  up  the  bucket  and  also 
the  forms  of  three  cats  placidly  drinking  from  it. 

We  left  Fenduk  early  the  next  morning  and  rode 
through  the  cool  of  the  morning  along  the  face  of 
the  ridge  we  had  climbed  the  day  before.  From 
the  gorge  below  rose  a  long  rope  of  mist  that 
was  broken  by  a  cold  wind  and  hustled  away 
across  the  plateau  of  Tur  Abdin.  After  a  time  we 
began  to  descend  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly. 
We  passed  a  tiny  mountain  village  once  in  a  great 
while,  but  travellers  we  saw  not  at  all.  The 
picturesque  features  of  the  road  were  the  ravines  it 
crossed,  down  which  roared  good-sized  torrents, 
swollen  by  the  constant  rain.  These  places  are 
always  heavily  wooded  and  either  inhabited  or 
bearing  evidence  of  having  been.  There  are 
often  reliefs  and  undecipherable  inscriptions  to  be 
found,  and  in  one  place  a  little  group  of  rock- 
hewn  chambers  like  those  of  Finik. 

They  are  situated  a  few  rods  above  the  road  in  a 
spot  about  four  hours  from  Fenduk  half  hidden 
by  a  dense  willow  growth.  Below  are  the  remains 
of  a  bridge  that  once  spanned  the  stream,  which 
now  must  be  forded.  We  found  it  dangerous  on 
account  of  rolling  stones  that  filled  the  ford  and  a 
deep  pool  just  below.  We  crossed  in  safety,  how- 
ever, and  so  did  all  the  pack  animals  except  the 


234  The  Gate  of  Asia 

donkeys  that  served  the  muleteers  as  mounts. 
They  were  up  to  their  necks  in  the  rapid  stream 
and  looked  like  drowned  rats.  One  of  them  was 
swept  clear  away  and  retrieved  out  of  a  hole 
between  two  rocks  where  he  had  stuck ;  but  the 
others  got  across,  carefully  sponsored  by  their 
masters,  who  kept  a  firm  hold  on  their  tails  in  the 
water  and  encouraged  them  with  loud  cries  that 
re-echoed  up  the  ravine. 

Our  muleteers  were  greatly  impressed  with  the 
dangers  and  difficulties  of  this  route  and  objected 
to  the  side  excursions  which  we  were  accustomed 
to  make,  leaving  the  caravan  to  clamber  among  the 
rocks.  On  one  occasion  Edwin  Warfield  became  so 
exasperated  with  one  of  them  who  insisted  upon  his 
following  a  certain  path  when  he  wished  to  examine 
another,  that  he  abandoned  all  attempts  to  make 
himself  understood  in  Arabic  and  fell  back  briefly 
but  emphatically  into  English.  There  are  certain 
expressions  in  that  language  which  fit  almost  any 
such  occasion  and  seem  to  be  understood  by  all 
peoples. 

In  the  afternoon  we  came  down  again  to  the  Ti- 
gris, which  makes  a  great  bend  in  the  gorge  below 
a  corner  which  we  had  cut  off  by  going  through 
Fenduk.  The  valley  which  we  now  entered 
was  of  great  beauty  because  of  its  ruggedness  and 
vastness.  The  river  runs  across  the  ridges  which 
are  formed  of  alternate  layers  of  hard  and  soft 
rock  that  is  readily  undermined  by  the  river, 
breaking  off  thereafter  in  large  blocks.  The  result 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          235 

is  that  the  ends  of  the  ridges  overhang  the  river 
with  sharp  cliffs,  seamed  with  narrow  ledges. 
Along  such  ledges  we  made  our  way  around  the  face 
of  the  ridges,  turning  up  the  valleys  between  to 
find  a  place  to  ford  the  streams  that  rushed  down 
them.  Often  we  had  to  climb  far  up  on  the  steep 
cliffs,  over  slippery  rocks,  zigzaging  from  ledge  to 
ledge,  in  order  to  find  a  place  wide  enough  to  serve 
as  a  road. 

In  places  there  were  villages,  either  climbing 
up  the  steep  face  of  a  ridge  or  nestling  between  in 
a  place  where  a  bit  of  flat  land  offered  a  little  room 
for  cultivation.  The  tops  of  hills  were  often 
sparsely  scattered  with  scrub  oaks  and  hawthorns, 
but  the  little  side  valleys  were  often  quite  beautiful 
with  groves  of  poplar  and  willow  and  little  patches 
of  cultivation.  In  one  we  found  a  high-arched 
bridge  in  very  good  repair  and  a  plain  stone  mill 
hidden  away  in  the  midst  of  carefully  cultivated 
poplars.  To  get  into  the  valley  we  had  to  wind 
down  a  steep  slope  on  the  south  side  and  immedi- 
ately ascend  from  ledge  to  ledge  to  a  height  of 
several  hundred  feet  on  the  north;  then  we  were 
able  to  round  the  face  of  the  ridge  on  a  narrow 
ledge  that  literally  overhung  the  river. 

An  incident  of  this  day  may  be  worth  relating 
as  illustrating  the  preparedness  of  these  people  for 
anything  like  danger.  We  stopped  on  top  of  one  of 
the  cliffs,  under  a  hawthorn  bush,  to  eat  our  meagre 
tiffin  of  bread  and  cheese.  Edwin  Warfield  pointed 
out  a  stone  on  a  ledge  opposite  which  needed 


236  The  Gate  of  Asia 

only  a  touch  to  send  it  into  the  river,  and  proposed 
to  start  it  off  with  a  rifle  bullet.  He  took  aim  and 
fired.  Just  as  the  shot  rang  out,  and  while  the 
sound  was  still  echoing  among  the  cliffs,  we  heard 
a  shrill  cry  just  behind  us,  a  rush  of  hoofs,  and 
the  sound  of  a  few  falling  stones.  We  stood  up 
and  looked  over  the  rock  that  had  served  us  as  a 
back,  for  the  shepherd  whom  we  had  thus  rudely 
disturbed.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  him  or  his 
flock.  At  the  sound  of  the  rifle,  which  meant 
danger  to  him,  he  had  not  stopped  to  inquire,  but 
had  rushed  off  with  his  woolly  charges  to  some 
secret  hiding-place  among  the  rocks. 

We  came  down  at  sunset  to  a  village  situated 
on  a  hill  rising  above  some  stony  fields  of  young 
barley.  There  we  received  hospitality  in  the  house 
of  the  chief  man,  which  was  by  the  side  of  the  road 
on  the  lowest  tier.  The  room  we  occupied  was 
evidently  kept  for  strangers  for  it  showed  no  signs 
of  other  occupancy.  The  people  were  very 
pleasant  and  gathered  around  with  a  great  show  of 
interest.  Edwin  Warfield  sat  for  some  time,  with 
elders  of  the  village,  upon  a  prominent  dunghill, 
displaying  his  prowess  with  the  rifle.  Our  zaptiehs 
looked  on  with  the  greatest  approval  and  Asoufi's 
powers  as  interpreter  were  sorely  taxed. 

When  we  were  retiring  for  the  night  we  found 
that  we  had  unwelcome  visitors  in  the  shape  of  a 
pair  of  pretty  but  restless  cats.  Edwin  Warfield 
had,  by  this  time,  made  quite  a  study  of  how  to 
keep  these  animals  at  a  distance.  His  modus 


a 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          237 

operandi  on  this  occasion  was  to  pick  them  up 
whenever  they  came  in  reach  and  hurl  them  play- 
fully but  forcibly  into  my  face,  a  process  which  he 
knew  would  not  fail  to  excite  retaliation,  and  as 
the  cat  was  the  most  convenient  missile,  the  cat 
naturally  suffered.  This  drastic  treatment  effec- 
tively discouraged  our  visitors  and  their  sworn 
enemy  went  peacefully  to  sleep,  thinking  of  what 
he  would  do  if  they  appeared  again. 

The  chill  mountain  wind  came  hurtling  down 
the  gorge  and  began  to  freeze  the  damp  mud  walls 
of  the  room.  Little  showers  of  clay  began  to 
flake  off  and  rattle  sharply  on  the  canvas  of  our 
sleeping-bags.  Edwin  Warfield  never  doubted 
for  a  minute  that  the  sound  was  of  feline  origin 
and  responded  by  drowsily  calling  ' '  Shoo !  Shoo ! ' ' 

Finally  a  very  large  shower  fell  and  he  was 
reminded  of  the  box  of  crackers  left  out  the  night 
before,  and  after  shooing  fiercely  said,  regretfully 
but  resignedly,  "There  go  our  crackers. " 

"Crackers  nothing,"  said  I,  "it's  only  the  wall,'* 
An  electric  torch  revealed  the  cracker  box  intact 
and  the  darkest  corners  free  from  cats.  Then  we 
buttoned  up  our  bags,  closed  the  flaps  over  our 
heads,  and  let  it  rain  mud  walls  all  night. 

The  next  day  we  kept  along  the  bank  for  a  while 
and  then  followed  a  track  that  wandered  over  the 
end  of  a  ridge,  past  a  pretty  little  mud  village  lost 
amid  a  grove  of  tall  slender  poplars.  This  soon 
brought  us  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Bohtan 
Su,  one  of  the  most  important  affluents  of  the 


238  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Tigris,  that  rises  in  the  heart  of  the  Kurdish 
mountains.  We  found  the  valley  quite  spacious  at 
first,  running  between  two  lofty  ridges.  But  it  soon 
narrowed  down  and  we  came  to  a  place  where  the 
river  had  cut  through  the  ridges.  This  point 
marked  the  beginning  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
gorges  in  Turkey.  The  walls  became  steeper 
and  steeper  until  we  came  to  the  Zorava  Chai, 
which  flows  into  the  larger  stream  from  the  east, 
just  above  where  the  Keser  Su  enters  from  the 
west.  The  space  between  these  affluents  is  the 
natural  point  at  which  to  cross,  and  there  we  found 
a  ferry  in  charge  of  some  wild-looking  Kurds. 

As  we  came  down  to  the  ferry  we  had  on  one 
side  the  Zorava  valley,  commanded  by  a  pictur- 
esque, castle-crowned  village,  on  the  other  the  Boh- 
tan  Su,  considerably  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
in  width,  that  flowed  by  with  a  tremendous  current 
and  flashed  around  a  curve  where,  as  we  had  seen, 
it  received  the  Keser  Su,  with  a  swirling  of  waters 
that  resembled  a  tide-rip.  As  we  considered  the 
general  aspects  of  the  situation  we  wondered 
whether  one  of  the  old  arks  used  in  this  country 
for  ferryboats  would  be  able  to  negotiate  such  a 
crossing.  But  the  contrivance  that  was  provided 
to  get  us  to  the  other  side  compared  as  favourably 
with  one  of  those  arks,  as  the  ark  would  with  a 
Hudson  River  ferry. 

It  was  a  small  kelek  formed  by  twenty  inflated 
sheepskins,  supporting  a  rude  platform  of  sticks, 
about  ten  feet  long  and  six  feet  wide.  It  was 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          239 

guided  by  two  sweeps,  poles  with  blades  of  split 
sticks,  worked  from  one  end.  Preparatory  to  tak- 
ing us  over  the  old  ferryman  went  over  the  skins,  in- 
flating some  that  had  become  soft,  by  means  of  a 
reed.  Then  our  baggage  and  pack-saddles  were 
piled  on  and  carried  across  in  three  instalments, 
while  we  were  carried  with  the  lightest  load.  The 
donkeys  were  towed  after  the  raft  by  their  halters 
but  the  larger  animals  had  to  be  made  to  swim. 
The  man  who  saw  to  them  was  a  handsome 
young  Kurd  of  excellent  physique  and  one  of  the 
best  swimmers  I  have  ever  seen.  He  took  off 
his  shirt  and  drawers,  the  only  clothes  he  was 
wearing,  and  wrapped  them  like  a  turban  around 
his  conical  hat.  Then  with  the  assistance  of 
ferrymen  and  muleteers  he  got  the  animals,  in  a 
group,  as  far  into  the  water  as  they  would  go. 
When  they  absolutely  balked  at  the  swiftness  of 
the  current  and  turned  to  go  back,  he  seized  the 
foremost  by  the  mane  and  forced  him  into  the 
current,  getting  him  well  started.  Then  he  left 
him  in  midstream,  swam  back  and  got  another, 
while  the  men  on  shore  kept  the  terrified  animals 
in  the  water  by  splashing  and  throwing  stones, 
not  to  mention  the  wild  shouting  that  invariably 
accompanies  motion  in  the  East.  When  a  few  of 
the  animals  got  started,  the  others  were  more  easy 
to  drive  and  began  to  swim  across  of  their  own 
accord.  Many  were  swept  down  a  good  half  mile, 
but  none  were  carried  around  the  curve,  whence 
they  would  never  have  returned. 


240  The  Gate  of  Asia 

While  we  were  thus  engaged  a  Turkish  officer 
came  down,  going  in  the  opposite  direction.  His 
mount  was  a  splendid  white  stallion  that  was 
terrified  at  the  very  thought  of  entering  the 
stream.  But  the  way  that  naked  Kurd  handled 
him  was  superb.  He  rode  him  into  the  water 
until  the  frightened  beast  was  lifted  clear  by  the 
current.  Then  they  both  went  under,  bobbing 
up  at  intervals  until  the  struggling  horse  found 
out  how  to  use  his  legs.  Then  they  began  to  make 
headway,  the  shouts  of  the  man  reaching  us  above 
the  roar  of  the  waters.  On  they  went  across  the 
stream,  the  big  horse  plunging  frantically  and  the 
man  holding  firmly  to  his  mane.  Then  they 
reached  the  other  side  and  dashed  up  on  the  bank, 
where  the  horse  began  to  crop  the  grass,  while  the 
man  slipped  off,  shook  out  his  shirt  and  drawers, 
and  donned  them  before  joining  the  men  who 
were  getting  the  raft  ready  for  our  last  load. 

Leaving  the  ferry  we  went  on  up  the  river, 
entering  a  ravine  with  tremendously  lofty  precipi- 
tous sides.  The  colouring  was  very  striking, 
for  while  one  side  was  white  limestone  almost 
entirely,  the  other  was  of  red  and  green  serpentine 
broken  in  places  by  large  dikes  of  black  basalt. 
As  we  ascended  the  ravine  became  a  mere  cleft 
in  the  mountains,  and  we  began  to  feel  that 
we  could  never  get  out.  But  there  were  many 
passers-by  and  we  were  reassured  on  that  point. 

Gradually  the  path  grew  narrower  and  narrower 
and  the  footing  more  and  more  precarious,  until  it 


:." 


An  Ornamented  Gateway  at  Sert 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          241 

gave  out  altogether  and  the  path  began  to  wind 
up  the  face  of  the  cliff.  It  was  a  perfectly  heart- 
breaking climb  of  1 200  feet  up  a  zigzag  ascent 
over  smooth  limestone.  We  climbed  up  ledges 
that  shelved  downwards  at  an  astonishing  angle 
and  rounded  corners  that  it  seemed  impossible  any 
animal  could  make  without  toppling  off.  But 
they  did,  and  we  came  on  past  a  couple  of  pictur- 
esque shrines  up  to  the  plateau  of  Sairt,  2800  feet 
above  the  sea. 

As  soon  as  we  had  reached  the  top  of  the  cliff 
the  gorge  was  lost  sight  of  and  before  us  lay  a 
stretch  of  rolling  country,  the  top  of  the  lime- 
stone, with  rounded  hills  beyond  topped  by  a 
magnificent  array  of  snow-capped  peaks.  In 
the  middle  distance  was  the  town  of  Sairt  and  to  it 
we  came  late  in  the  afternoon,  winding  through 
its  streets  to  a  well  built  and  comfortable  khan. 
Here  we  found  a  second-storey  room,  neatly  white- 
washed and  boasting  two  windows  of  good  size. 
Before  the  door  was  a  wide  porch  over  the  stables 
whence  we  could  see  over  the  opposite  wall  to  a 
barracks,  occupied  by  a  few  soldiers.  When  we 
had  gotten  comfortably  arranged  we  set  out  as 
usual  to  look  at  the  town,  and  found  it  both  well 
looking  and  pleasant. 

It  is  a  limestone  city,  with  many  two-  and  three- 
storeyed  buildings,  well  furnished  with  windows. 
The  roofs  are  flat,  the  walls  all  lean  slightly 
inward  and  are  covered  with  a  thick  lime  plaster. 
The  principal  mosque  is  small  and  insignificant. 

16 


242  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  dome  is  very  squat  and  ugly,  and  the  minaret 
is  shapeless  and  so  far  from  vertical  that  it  is  a 
marvel  that  it  stands  at  all.  Both  are  ornamented 
by  a  score  or  so  of  Dresden  dinner  plates  and 
saucers,  stuck  in  the  plaster  at  irregular  intervals, 
in  lieu  of  tiles.  There  is  an  interesting  quarter 
behind  the  khan  occupied  by  potters.  The  roofs 
are  all  either  domed  or  vaulted.  Under  each 
dome  is  a  potter's  wheel  and  under  each  vault  a 
furnace,  while  the  narrow  streets  are  cluttered 
with  amphora?  and  bowls  of  freshly  baked  clay. 

The  people  are  mostly  Mohammedans,  who  are 
all  Kurds,  but  there  are  also  a  good  many  Christians, 
both  Chaldaeans  and  Nestorians.  The  former  are 
looked  after  by  a  Dominican  Mission  which  has  a 
considerable  settlement  on  a  hill  above  the  town. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of  the  archi- 
tecture was  some  gateways  in  walls  that  surrounded 
a  number  of  court-yards,  in  different  parts  of  the 
city.  These  are  of  limestone  beautifully  carved 
with  designs  which  I  feel  sure  are  native  Kurdish, 
although  they  certainly  show  outside  influence. 
They  are  mostly  of  intricate  lacework,  with  a 
symmetry  that  suggests  the  Persian,  but  carried 
out  in  a  style  I  have  not  seen  in  Persia.  They  are 
superior  to  both  the  Christian  and  Moslem  work  of 
Mosul. 

We  were  shown  about  Sairt  by  two  police 
officers  who  spoke  enough  French  to  get  along  very 
nicely.  They  we're  natives  of  the  place,  one  a 
Moslem  and  the  other  a  Chalda3an.  They  showed 


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The  Tigris  to  Armenia  243 

us  the  greatest  courtesy  and  when  we  returned  to 
the  inn  we  sat  and  talked  for  a  long  time. 

The  next  day  we  set  out  over  some  extremely 
rugged  country  for  Bitlis  and  the  border  of  Armenia. 
On  leaving  Sairt  we  soon  got  into  some  rugged 
hills  of  green  and  red  serpentine,  a  colouring  that 
added  greatly  to  the  beauty  of  the  views.  Soon 
we  began  to  ascend  and  made  one  of  those  stiff 
climbs  that  had  come  to  be  of  almost  every-day 
occurrence.  With  much  pushing  and  tugging  we 
got  to  the  top.  Here  we  met  a  man  in  European 
dress  whom  we  took  for  a  Russian  newspaper 
correspondent,  whom  we  were  told  was  expected 
that  day  in  Sairt.  But  the  man  proved  to  be 
an  Albanian  official.  While  we  were  talking  with 
him  the  Russian  turned  up,  a  short  stout  man,  in 
Tyrolean  hunting  costume,  attended  by  a  Circassian 
in  the  full  costume  of  that  people.  He  was  greatly 
excited  over  the  threatened  revolt  of  the  Bohtan 
chiefs,  which  he  had  come  down  to  witness.  I  fear 
he  was  greatly  disappointed  when  we  told  him  that 
all  was  quiet  in  Sairt.  His  account  of  the  road 
was  far  from  encouraging,  but  we  pressed  on  and 
came  down  the  other  side  of  the  ridge  we  had 
climbed,  into  the  valley  of  the  Keser  Su. 

This  river  is  not  very  large  so  far  up,  and  here 
flows  between  the  ridges.  It  is  crossed  by  a 
picturesque  bridge  of  four  arches  of  greatly  varying 
size  and  shape.  Beyond  it  the  path  led  past  a 
tiny  little  village  into  a  jumble  of  red  and  green 
hills. 


244  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Here  the  path  practically  gave  out  in  many 
places  and  we  could  find  our  way  only  by  occasional 
traces.  At  times  we  traversed  the  face  of  a  per- 
fectly smooth  cliff  along  a  trace,  not  wider  than  a 
man's  foot,  worn  in  the  friable  rock  by  the  hoofs 
of  passing  caravans.  We  often  expected  to  see 
the  whole  caravan  go  sliding  down  into  the  roar- 
ing torrent  below,  as  was  not  strange,  for  our 
imaginations  were  occasionally  quickened  by  the 
sight  of  a  little  pile  of  bones  or  a  grinning  skull, 
showing  where  some  former  wayfarer  had  lost  an 
animal.  There  were  graves  of  men,  too,  marked  by 
rough  cairns,  where  passing  muleteers  rarely  fail 
to  cast  a  stone,  by  way  of  propitiating  the  spirit, 
so  that  their  own  party  may  pass  in  safety. 

Later  in  the  evening  we  came  to  a  hollow  with  a 
steep  slope  on  one  side  covered  with  thick  meadow 
grass,  and  tiny  rills  that  trickled  from  numerous 
springs.  Above  the  springs  was  a  little  Kurdish 
village  and  there  we  stopped  for  the  night.  We 
pitched  our  tents  in  a  little  field  of  grass  while  our 
muleteers  found  lodging  in  the  village. 

The  next  day  we  went  on,  climbing  higher  and 
higher,  in  order  to  cross  the  ridge  that  separates 
the  Keser  Su  from  the  Bitlis  Su,  a  river  that  joins 
it  some  distance  below  Sairt.  This  ridge  is  over 
seven  thousand  feet  high  and  was  covered  with 
snow  on  that  April  day. 

Despite  the  difficulties  of  the  road  we  passed 
several  caravans,  chiefly  loaded  with  tobacco, 
which  is  the  most  important  commodity  in  the 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          245 

inter-provincial  trade  of  Turkey.  There  were 
often  fifty  or  a  hundred  animals,  mules  or  horses, 
in  a  caravan,  looked  after  by  wild-looking  Kurdish 
muleteers,  many  of  them  showing  by  their  dress 
that  they  belonged  to  one  of  the  Persian  tribes. 
They  were  journeying  through  Sairt  to  Diyarbekr 
from  Bitlis  and  Mush. 

As  we  reached  greater  altitudes  our  difficulties 
were  increased  by  the  alternately  frozen  and  muddy 
ground.  Our  animals,  poor  enough  to  start  with, 
were  utterly  worn  out  and  constantly  had  to  halt 
for  breath.  Not  infrequently  one  or  another  fell 
on  one  of  the  steep  ascents,  but  fortunately  not  in 
a  very  dangerous  place. 

The  top  of  the  pass  by  which  we  crossed  was 
quite  deep  in  snow  and  the  road  was  rendered 
doubly  dangerous  by  the  ice.  The  views  were 
picturesque  but  generally  bare.  The  stunted 
oaks  that  filled  the  protected  valleys  were  innocent 
of  leaf,  but  the  spring  flowers  underfoot  were  in 
blossom  right  up  to  the  snow  line.  There  were 
crocuses,  hyacinths,  tulips,  and  several  sorts  of  iris, 
and  on  the  farther  side  a  few  beautiful  beds  of 
asphodel  and  little  blue  and  yellow  woodland 
blossoms  of  various  kinds.  In  one  place  we  came 
upon  a  little  square  of  fertile  ground,  an  acre  or  so 
in  extent,  surrounded  by  rough  boulders.  It  was 
situated  on  the  very  summit  of  a  high  ridge  whence 
we  had  a  beautiful  view  of  hills  coloured  in  various 
tones  of  green,  dark  green  rocks  and  the  lighter 
shades  of  new  flushed  pastures  and  budding  trees. 


246  The  Gate  of  Asia 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  this  place  was  not  the 
view,  which  was  forgotten  in  the  sight  of  hundreds 
of  gracefully  nodding  white  narcissi.  Our  mule- 
teers admired  them  as  much  as  we  and  plucked  a 
bunch  for  each  of  us. 

Once  over  the  pass  we  came  down  by  steep  icy 
paths  to  the  Bitlis  valley  and  crossed  the  narrow 
roaring  torrent  of  the  Bitlis  Su  by  a  high-arched 
bridge.  Beyond  it  a  steep  path  led  up  a  green 
bank  to  a  fine  metalled  road.  Up  it  we  marched 
about  fifteen  miles  to  Bitlis,  keeping  constantly 
along  the  banks  of  the  stream.  The  valley 
varied  greatly  in  width;  usually  it  was  sharp  and 
narrow,  but  often  there  was  a  wide  space  with  very 
fair  little  meadows  in  it.  The  right  bank  was  com- 
posed of  green  serpentine,  the  relic  of  some  very 
old  volcanic  eruption.  The  left  bank  however  was 
almost  always  lined  by  cliffs  of  columnar  basalt, 
a  comparatively  recent  flow  from  the  huge  crater 
of  Nimrud  Dagh  which  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  valley.  This  flow  filled  the  valley  at  a  time 
when  the  river  was  much  larger  than  now,  and  cut 
off  all  the  drainage  from  Lake  Van  that  once  ran 
into  it.  The  present  stream  has  not  made  great 
headway  against  it  but  has  cut  its  way  between 
it  and  the  serpentine  wall  of  the  older  valley. 

From  every  point  there  were  beautiful  views  of 
snow-capped  peaks  rising  high  above  the  valley, 
which,  is  itself  five  thousand  feet  above  sea  level. 
There  was  plenty  of  snow  everywhere  but  not  so 
much  as  to  make  travel  difficult.  Another  pro- 


i 


The  Tigris  to  Armenia          247 

minent  feature  was  the  constant  appearance  of 
mineral  springs  containing  iron,  sulphur,  and  var- 
ious salts,  and  often  strongly  charged  with  carbonic 
acid  gas.  When  heavily  charged  with  iron  they 
often  resembled  bloody  gashes  on  the  hillside. 

The  most  striking  of  all  was  one  of  which  the 
waters  are  so  heavily  charged  with  lime  that  they 
have  built  up  a  ridge  thirty  feet  high,  and  so  thick 
and  steep  that  the  road  has  to  pass  through  a 
tunnel  in  it.  Above  the  modern  tunnel  is  one 
said  to  date  from  Assyrian  times.  It  is  called 
"the  gate  of  Semiramis"  and  is  said  to  have  been 
cut  by  that  Queen  when  she  made  a  road  that 
passed  through  it  on  the  way  to  Van  where  she 
had  a  summer  home. 

Quite  late  in  the  afternoon  the  valley  began  to 
open  out  and  then  suddenly  contracted,  forming  a 
gate  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  spider-shaped 
hollow  in  which  Bitlis  is  located.  Through  this 
gate  we  went  and  up  among  the  lava-built  houses 
to  be  cordially  received  by  the  little  group  of 
American  missionaries. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BITLIS  AND  LAKE  VAN 

THE  situation  of  Bitlis  is  striking  and  unique, 
surrounded  as  it  is  by  a  coronal  of  high 
rounded  hills.  The  hollow  in  which  the  city  is 
built  is  formed  by  two  large  convergent  streams 
which  flow  out  down  the  valley  below,  enhanced 
by  several  smaller  torrents  dashing  down  from  the 
valleys  that  radiate  from  the  common  centre,  like 
the  legs  of  a  spider.  Overlooking  the  confluence 
of  the  streams,  is  a  commanding  rock,  its  top 
covered  by  the  ruins  of  a  castle.  The  bottom 
below  is  flagged  with  flat  roofs,  above  which  rise  a 
few  clumsy  minarets  and  the  dome  of  a  mosque. 
All  around  the  houses  rise  in  tiers  up  the  sides  of 
the  hollow,  and  above  them  are  vineyards,  grave- 
yards, and  poplar  groves.  The  houses,  though 
well  provided  with  windows,  are  square-built  and 
featureless,  built  of  stone,  from  the  great  lava 
flow  that  once  filled  the  valley.  The  material 
is  cut  from  parts  of  the  flow  that  have  cooled  rapidly 
and  so  are  porous  and  easily  sawed  into  cubical 
blocks,  whence  the  regularity  of  the  lines  of  all 
the  buildings  and  the  sense  of  precision  that  is 

248 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  249 

characteristic  of  the  city.  When  first  cut  the 
stones  are  black;  but  so  rich  are  they  in  readily 
oxidized  compounds  of  iron  that  they  soon  weather 
a  dark  brown,  a  process  that  is  hastened  by  the 
wash  from  the  mud  roofs.  Like  the  roofs  in  the 
villages  these  are  made  of  mud  laid  on  poplar 
or  willow  poles,  and  have  to  be  kept  rolled  to 
prevent  their  cracking  from  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
A  conspicuous  feature  of  the  city  is  the  high  stone 
walls  surrounding  gardens  and  the  compounds  of 
the  better  houses.  In  Bitlis  every  man's  house  is 
his  castle  in  very  truth,  and  it  would  require  a 
goodly  charge  of  gun-cotton  to  force  the  outer 
defences.  The  houses  of  some  of  the  wealthier 
Armenians  are  guarded  with  gates  like  those  of 
Rothenberg,  protected  by  not  unskilfully  con- 
structed barbicans.  If  the  doorkeeper  has  fallen 
asleep  or  gone  on  an  errand  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  gain  access  to  such  a  building,  as  we  frequently 
discovered. 

The  city  of  Bitlis  is  the  gate  of  Armenia.  Below 
are  the  rugged  ranges  of  Kurdistan  and  to  the 
north  the  broad  valleys  of  ancient  Urartu.  Through 
Bitlis  Tiglath  Pileser  came  when  the  Assyrian  arms 
first  appeared  on  Lake  Van,  and  the  old  castle  that 
doubtless  stood  in  ancient  times  on  the  rock 
in  the  centre  of  the  city  must  often  have  been  a 
bone  of  contention  between  the  native  Urartians 
and  their  Assyrian  enemies.  But  the  first  histori- 
cal mention  of  a  castle  at  Bitlis  dates  from  the 
days  of  Alexander.  In  this  connection  a  legend 


250  The  Gate  of  Asia 

has  come  down  to  us  which  attempts  to  explain 
the  origin  of  the  name  of  the  city. 

It  is  said  that  Alexander  sent  one  of  his  generals, 
Lais  by  name,  with  orders  to  build  an  impregnable 
fortress  on  the  site  of  modern  Bitlis.  This  the 
general  did  with  a  right  good  will,  finding  himself 
all-powerful  in  this  remote  region.  Later  Alex- 
ander wished  to  pass  down  the  valley  to  the  Tigris, 
but  was  refused  by  his  quondam  servant.  So  he 
attacked  the  fortress,  and  though  unable  to  carry 
it  by  storm,  succeeded  in  reducing  Lais  to  such 
straits  that  he  sued  for  pardon.  When  Alexander 
asked  him  the  meaning  of  his  revolt  he  explained : 
"Your  Majesty  bade  me  build  an  impregnable 
fortress,  which  I  did.  Then  I  sought  a  means 
of  proving  to  your  Majesty  how  well  the  orders 
were  executed.  How  better  could  this  be  done 
than  by  resisting  the  attack  of  the  great  Alex- 
ander?" 

So  pleased  was  the  Macedonian  that  he  forgave 
Lais  after  rebuking  him,  calling  him  bad.  Then  he 
ordered  that  the  place  should  be  called  by  the  name 
of  the  sinner,  Bad  Lais,  which  has  softened  to 
Bitlis. 

Unfortunately  this  legend  has  no  backing  in 
historical  fact  and  is  either  made  of  whole  cloth  or 
wrongly  attributed  to  Alexander.  The  known 
history  of  Bitlis  castle  dates  from  the  Mongol  con- 
quest under  Tamerlane  in  1400.  He  appointed  a 
governor  over  the  Hakkiari  mountains  named 
Amir  Kara  Othman  (Othman  the  Black  Chief). 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  251 

He  established  his  capital  at  Bitlis  and  married 
the  daughter  of  one  of  the  powerful  Hakkiari 
chiefs.  He  adopted  the  dress  and  manners  of  that 
tribe,  and  set  himself  up  as  their  chief  and  inde- 
pendent ruler,  with  the  title  of  Prince.  His  line 
continued  in  power  for  four  centuries  and  a  half, 
defying  Turk  and  Persian  from  their  commanding 
stronghold,  and  now  and  then  forming  an  alliance 
with  one  or  the  other,  or  acknowledging  a  nominal 
suzerainty. 

Under  these  princes  Bitlis  became  a  very  impor- 
tant centre,  and  furnished  some  brilliant  men  both 
to  Turkey  and  Persia,  notably  Edrisi,  the  famous 
vizier  of  Sultan  Selim.  To  their  strength  the 
Hakkiari  tribe  owes  its  preponderance  in  Turkish 
Kurdistan.  So  widely  did  they  extend  their  rule 
into  Armenia  and  Persia  as  almost  to  be  worthy 
the  name  of  a  second  Median  empire. 

They  fell  in  1849,  however,  when  the  Turkish 
government  concentrated  its  energies  upon  re- 
ducing the  Kurds  and  destroying  the  strongholds 
from  which  many  of  their  leaders  were  in  the 
habit  of  defying  authority  in  remote  parts  of  the 
mountains.  Sharif  Bey,  the  last  of  the  line  of 
Othman,  held  out  in  his  castle  for  years  but  was 
finally  dislodged  by  Turkish  guns  from  the  sur- 
rounding heights.  His  capital  is  now  the  seat  of  a 
Turkish  Vali  who  rules  the  surrounding  Kurds  with 
a  force  of  Albanian  troops  and  Turkish  zaptiehs. 
The  castle  was  recently  levelled  off  at  the  top  by  a 
progressive  Vali  in  pursuance  of  some  plan  he  had 


252  The  Gate  of  Asia 

not  the  means  to  carry  out.  But  much  of  its 
massive  masonry  still  stands  as  a  conspicuous 
memorial  to  the  Black  Othman  and  his  successors. 
As  a  result  of  this  long  Kurdish  occupation  only 
about  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  population  is  Arme- 
nian. And  it  is  this  part  that  controls  the  trade  of 
the  city,  for  the  Kurd  is  no  businessman.  Thus 
a  deep-seated  jealousy  has  arisen  between  the  two 
peoples  which  makes  Bitlis  a  rich  soil  for  Abdul- 
Hamid's  seed  of  massacre.  It  has  been  one  of  the 
first  places  to  suffer  in  all  the  great  massacres,  and 
has  had  little  outbreaks  of  its  own.  For  instance 
a  Vali  wished  to  build  new  bazaars  to  replace  the 
old  ones,  largely  of  wood,  that  dated  from  before 
the  days  of  Turkish  rule.  They  were  almost 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  Armenians,  who  must 
be  got  rid  of  before  their  shops  could  be  torn  down. 
To  do  this  by  fair  play  would  be  expensive,  for  the 
Turk  is  no  better  bargainer  than  the  Kurd.  So 
the  beneficent  Vali  sent  his  soldiers  into  the 
bazaars  to  set  them  on  fire.  When  the  flames  burst 
out,  looting  began  and  no  Armenian  was  allowed 
to  carry  off  any  of  his  goods.  If  any  sought  to 
defend  their  property  they  were  promptly  knifed 
and  their  bodies  thrown  into  the  fire.  The  ruins 
that  remained  presented  a  scene  of  the  utmost 
desolation,  and  the  Vali  being  soon  after  recalled, 
they  were  not  rebuilt  until  the  Armenians  suc- 
ceeded in  once  more  winning  back  their  goods  from 
their  Moslem  neighbours.  A  few  were  still  in  ruins 
at  the  time  of  our  visit,  owing  to  the  great  reduc- 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  253 

tion  of  the  Armenian  population  by  massacre  and 
emigration. 

The  Armenians  live  in  their  own  quarters,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where  they  are  fairly  well 
able  to  protect  themselves.  But  their  shops  are  in 
the  heart  of  the  Moslem  section.  There  they  are 
trapped  like  rats  when  a  massacre  breaks  out,  and 
slaughtered  before  they  can  reach  their  homes. 

On  the  day  of  our  arrival  in  Bitlis  a  Kurd  had 
been  murdered  in  a  low  brawl.  His  friends,  the 
meanest  ruffians  in  the  city,  carried  the  body  to 
the  Vali  and  demanded  vengeance  on  the  Armeni- 
ans, whom  they  accused  of  doing  the  deed.  After 
the  manner  of  Turks  the  Vali  temporized.  Luckily 
the  murder  was  at  night  and  the  trouble  began 
before  the  Armenians  had  opened  their  shops. 
So  they  all  remained  in  terrified  concealment 
in  their  own  quarters.  The  Vali  was  evidently 
under  orders  from  Constantinople  to  avoid  trouble, 
for  he  kept  the  streets  patrolled  by  zaptiehs 
wherever  there  were  Armenian  houses.  But  even 
so  three  Armenians  were  killed  or  wounded  dur- 
ing the  day,  and  another  was  brutally  assaulted 
with  a  hatchet  late  in  the  evening,  while  going 
to  another  quarter  to  look  after  the  safety 
of  his  sister.  Two  days  more  passed  in  great 
trepidation,  no  one  knowing  whether  the  Kurds 
would  break  out  or  not.  There  were  meetings 
in  all  the  Armenian  churches  to  petition  the 
Vali  and  the  Sultan.  These  gatherings  several 
times  called  our  missionary  hosts  to  advise  or 


254  The  Gate  of  Asia 

act  as  go-betweens  in  communicating  with  the 
Vali. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  several 
Armenians  were  arrested,  and  quiet  restored. 
Before  we  left  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
frightened  Christians  go  back  to  their  places  of 
business  in  the  bazaar.  It  was  a  narrow  escape, 
however,  for  the  Kurds  of  Bitlis  are  very  turbulent. 
A  few  months  later  they  attacked  the  Vali  and  his 
troops  in  force,  but  were  repelled  by  machine 
guns,  despite  the  fact  that  their  leader,  Sheikh 
Selim  of  Hizan,  promised  them  invulnerability. 
The  fact  that  this  Mollah  Selim  found  sanctuary  in 
the  Russian  consulate  after  the  defeat  of  his  fol- 
lowers is  significant.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  the  attack  was  fostered  by  the  representatives 
of  the  Czar,  whose  aim  is  to  keep  Armenia  as  dis- 
turbed as  may  be,  to  facilitate  its  being  annexed 
to  Holy  Russia. 

At  the  time  of  our  visit  in  April  the  hills  around 
Bitlis  were  covered  with  snow,  which  also  lay  in 
masses  in  many  of  the  streets.  This  is  a  country 
of  heavy  snowfall  and  the  citizens  enjoy  the  com- 
fortable privilege  of  shovelling  all  superfluous 
accumulations  from  the  roofs  into  the  streets, 
many  of  which  are  quite  blocked  to  all  but  foot 
traffic  until  May.  The  levels  of  all  are  raised  to 
the  tops  of  the  walls,  which  would  make  it  danger- 
ous for  the  Armenians,  but  for  the  fact  that  the 
local  Moslems  are  a  cowardly  set  and  do  not 
attack  the  Christians  unless  reinforced  by  the 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  255 

wilder  villagers,  who  are  hopelessly  snowed  in 
during  the  winter.  On  account  of  the  melting  snow 
and  the  altitude  (Bitlis  is  5100  feet  above  the 
sea)  the  air  was  chill  except  at  midday  when  the 
April  sun  warmed  things  up  except  in  the  narrow, 
shaded  streets. 

The  Armenians  have  as  a  rule  adopted  Euro- 
pean, or  d,  la  Franga,  clothes.  But  they  have 
an  Oriental  air  in  spite  of  them  because  of  the  fez 
and  a  certain  way  of  wearing  their  uncreased 
trousers  and  ill-fitting  coats.  Their  manners 
too  are  Oriental.  When  they  sit  on  a  chair  they 
thrust  their  feet  under  it  as  do  all  Orientals  because 
of  having  been  brought  up  to  squat  on  their  heels. 
They  keep  their  eyes  straight  in  front  of  them  and 
their  hands  in  their  laps  except  when  they  use 
them  to  gesture ;  the  gestures  too  are  all  Oriental. 
We  met  one  or  two  men  who  had  been  in  America 
and  learned  Western  ways.  They  were  the  wealth- 
iest members  of  the  community;  their  trousers 
were  creased,  they  wore  collars,  looked  us  in  the 
eye  in  conversation,  laughed  as  we  do,  shook 
hands  as  we  do,  used  their  hands  and  feet  as  we 
do,  sneezed  as  we  do,  in  fact  were  an  excellent 
example  of  the  adaptability  of  the  Armenian. 
Those  we  met  were  men  of  influence  in  the  com- 
munity, respected  by  their  fellows  and  handled 
with  gloves  on  by  the  Turks. 

The  Armenians  in  the  villages  are  quite  unlike 
their  city-dwelling  fellows  in  many  ways.  The 
latter  are  generally  slender  and  ill-muscled,  often 


256  The  Gate  of  Asia 

tall,  with  meagre  chests,  light  skin,  and  rather 
clear-cut  features.  But  the  peasants  are  short 
men,  stocky  and  deep-chested,  with  dark,  heavy, 
often  sullen  faces.  They  are  slow  where  the 
townsman  is  quick,  simple  where  he  is  full  of  guile, 
stubborn  where  he  may  be  easily  convinced, 
cheerful  and  forgiving  where  he  will  nurse  a  hidden 
grudge.  These  differences  are  doubtless  due  to 
some  deeper  cause  than  environment.  Armenia 
has  been  swept  by  invasion  after  invasion.  Scythi- 
ans, Parthians,  Mongols,  and  Turks  have  all  passed 
through  their  valleys  and  many  have  been  left 
behind  to  take  the  place  of  depopulated  villages. 
All  these  except  the  Turks  were  pagans  and  so 
easily  absorbed  by  the  Christian  population,  whose 
religion  and  customs  they  have  adopted  and  upon 
whom  they  have  set  the  stamp  of  their  race.  As  a 
result  the  Armenian  peasant  inherits  little  enough 
from  the  original  Aryan  invaders  except  his  lan- 
guage, which  is  now  full  of  Turanian  forms. 

The  city  dwellers  have  also  suffered  from  a 
dilution  of  the  old  Aryan  blood,  but  in  a  different 
way.  They  are  the  most  skilful  traders  in  the  Near 
East,  a  trait  that  is  characteristic  of  the  Semitic 
race.  We  know  that  the  Assyrians  held  several 
Armenian  cities  for  some  time,  and  I  do  not  doubt 
that  a  strong  admixture  of  Semitic  blood  took  place 
then.  In  later  times  numbers  of  Jews  migrated 
to  Armenia.  Several  thousand  were  settled  at  one 
time  in  Van  to  take  the  place  of  a  large  body  of 
citizens  massacred  by  Tamerlane.  These  bodies 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  257 

have  all  disappeared  into  the  mass  of  the  Armenian 
people,  and  the  result  is  that  Semitic  peculiarities 
of  character  and  physiognomy  are  to  be  noted 
everywhere.  There  is  therefore  a  great  difference 
between  the  city  and  country  Armenian,  which  is 
one  of  the  great  impediments  to  a  united  Armenia. 

The  peasants  wear  much  the  same  costume  as 
their  Kurdish  neighbours,  just  as  do  the  Assyrian 
Christians  of  Kurdistan.  Their  felt  hats,  instead 
of  being  dome-shaped,  are  conical  and  adaptable 
to  more  uses  than  that  of  covering  the  head.  A 
member  of  the  American  mission,  our  hostess  at 
Bitlis,  a  very  charming  old  lady  who  has  spent  her 
life  in  Turkey,  went  out  into  the  country  to  get 
milk  for  a  sick  lady  at  the  mission.  She  insisted  on 
having  the  cow  milked  into  her  own  pail — carefully 
sterilized — while  she  looked  on  to  make  sure  that 
no  impurities  were  allowed  to  get  into  it.  When 
the  pail  was  full,  she  began  to  count  out  the  money 
to  pay  for  the  milk,  from  which  for  the  moment 
she  removed  her  eyes.  The  peasant  woman 
did  not  want  the  milk  to  ,go  to  the  good  American 
lady  without  being  strained.  So  she  snatched  the 
conical  felt  cap  from  the  head  of  her  young  son, 
and  proceeded  to  strain  the  milk  through  it.  She 
could  never  understand  why  her  customer  left  in 
such  disgust. 

The  simplicity  of  the  Armenian  peasant  and  his 
inability  to  drive  a  bargain  is  excellently  illustrated 
by  an  incident  of  our  stay  in  Bitlis.  A  boy  brought 
in  the  carcase  of  a  wild  boar  which  his  father  had 


258  The  Gate  of  Asia 

killed  in  the  river  valley.  He  had  it  carefully  con- 
cealed in  sacking  so  as  to  resemble  a  bag  of  fodder, 
for  he  would  have  been  instantly  attacked,  and 
very  likely  killed,  were  it  known  that  he  was  bring- 
ing such  an  abomination  into  the  city.  He  offered 
the  quarry  to  one  of  the  missionaries. 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  it?"  asked  that 
gentleman. 

"What?"  said  the  boy  stupidly. 

"You  want  to  sell  it  do  you  not?  What  sum  of 
money  do  you  expect  to  receive?" 

"Oh!"  said  the  boy  with  a  surprised  laugh,  "if 
you  ask  me,  I  would  very  much  like  to  get  a  lira 
[$4.40]  for  it." 

"No,  no!"  said  the  American,  "I  will  give  you  a 
mejid  [eighty  cents]  for  it." 

"Very  well, "  said  the  boy,  "I  thank  you. " 

He  went  off  perfectly  satisfied  leaving  the 
splendid  big  boar  with  the  missionary.  The  chine 
became  the  piece  de  resistance  at  a  dinner  at  which 
we  were  the  guests  of  honour,  while  the  story  of  its 
acquisition  was  equally  relished  by  all  present. 

The  Moslems  of  Bitlis,  being  mostly  Kurds, 
dress  almost  entirely  in  the  Hakkiari  costume. 
The  streets  are  rendered  picturesque  by  the  groups 
of  men  in  shaggy  goatskin  jackets,  bright-coloured 
baggy  trousers,  and  domed  or  conical  felt  hats. 
As  is  the  case  in  most  Moslem  cities  the  principal 
mosque,  dating  from  the  days  of  the  Kalifate,  is  in 
the  centre  of  the  city,  surrounded  by  the  bazaars 
and  Moslem  quarters.  The  Armenian  churches 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  259 

are  forced  out  into  the  outskirts  and  the  monaster- 
ies are  still  farther  away. 

There  are  three  sects  of  Armenians,  all  recognized 
by  the  government  as  subject  millets,  and  all 
represented  in  Bitlis.  The  Gregorian  is  the 
"orthodox"  Armenian  with  its  centre  in  Echmiad- 
zin in  Russian  territory.  It  gets  its  name  from 
the  founder  of  the  church,  Gregory  the  Illuminator, 
who  was  sent  by  the  bishop  of  Cappadocia  in  the 
third  century  to  preach  Christianity  to  the  then 
pagan  Armenians.  Corruption  in  this  old  church 
and  neglect  of  its  Turkish  followers  gave  the  Roman 
Catholics  an  opportunity  to  found  the  Catholic 
Armenian  church  under  much  the  same  conditions 
as  the  Uniat  Syrian  churches.  Finally  there  is  the 
Protestant  Armenian  church  for  which  the  Ameri- 
can missionaries  are  responsible.  Although  Pro- 
testant it  remains  Armenian  in  membership  and 
government. 

The  American  mission  is  doing  a  splendid  work 
in  Bitlis  especially  in  its  schools  for  boys  and  girls 
which  are  attended  by  Armenians  of  all  sects.  The 
spread  of  education  is  the  hope  of  Armenians  both 
in  Turkey  and  Russia,  and  it  is  a  great  satisfaction 
to  know  that  they  are  getting  it  chiefly  in  Ameri- 
can schools  and  colleges. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  an  intelligent 
looking  group  of  boys,  a  hundred  or  more,  in  the 
boys'  school  at  Bitlis.  Most  of  them  were  not 
advanced  enough  to  understand  English,  which 
necessitated  the  assistance  of  the  principal,  Mr. 


260  The  Gate  of  Asia 

George  Knapp,  as  interpreter.  But  even  so  they 
listened  with  a  great  show  of  interest  to  what 
I  had  to  say,  and  with  perfect  courtesy,  although 
it  was  just  before  the  noon  hour  when  all  school- 
boys are  restless. 

There  are  several  Armenian  monasteries  in  the 
environs  of  Bitlis,  a  few  of  which  we  visited.  They 
are  picturesque  but  forbidding,  with  heavily  walled 
compounds,  terminated  at  one  end  by  a  massive 
fortified  gateway,  and  at  the  other  by  a  cruciform 
church  with  an  octagonal  cupola.  To  gain  access 
to  one  of  these  churches  we  had  to  crawl  through 
low  openings  in  massive  walls,  pass  through  high 
vaulted  chambers,  and  thread  a  crooked  corridor. 
Persecution  and  repeated  plundering  has  taught 
these  people  caution. 

Down  the  valley  a  short  way,  out  of  sight  of  the 
city,  is  a  monastery  used  today  like  many  another 
in  Armenia  as  an  orphanage  for  the  shelter  of  the 
children  of  those  killed  in  the  recent  massacres. 
It  has  stood  several  sieges  successfully,  and  is 
still  jealously  guarded  against  Moslem  ill-will. 
Patches  of  melting  snow  lay  in  the  fields  before  it, 
but  the  plantations  of  poplars  were  budding  and 
the  exposed  slopes  were  spangled  with  spring 
flowers.  Upon  this  peaceful  scene  frowned 
the  dark,  unbroken  walls  of  the  monastery,  ren- 
dered gloomier  still  by  the  white  mountains 
beyond.  Two  huge  mastiffs,  resembling  the  dogs 
of  St.  Bernard,  dashed  out  at  us  with  a  chorus  of 
fierce  barks.  A  group  of  youngsters  gathered 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  261 

upon  the  roof,  the  great  door  of  heavy  iron- 
studded  planks  was  thrown  open,  and  a  crowd 
rushed  out  to  greet  us,  some  smiling,  some  gaping, 
but  all  bowing  politely,  cap  in  hand.  A  pleasant 
old  priest,  short  and  broad-shouldered,  met  us  at 
the  door  with  the  kindest  cordiality,  showing 
great  respect  to  our  escort,  Mr.  Knapp.  We 
passed  through  a  long  entrance  way  into  the  court. 
In  front  stood  the  church  with  its  octagonal  cupola, 
and  opposite  it  was  the  building  used  for  the  cells 
of  the  brothers  and  their  charges. 

The  church  was  small  and  simple.  Within  were 
a  few  paintings  on  the  walls  and  no  furniture  be- 
yond a  rail  separating  the  tawdrily  decorated  altar 
from  the  congregation.  This  rarely  consists  of 
more  than  the  orphans  and  a  few  servants,  who 
are  content  to  squat  on  their  heels  during  service. 

We  accompanied  the  priest  to  his  cell  where  we 
were  served  the  usual  tiny  cups  of  Turkish  coffee. 
The  boys  who  waited  on  us,  round-faced  and  rosy 
cheeked,  showed  the  greatest  respect  for  their 
masters  and  were  courteous  and  quiet.  One  lit- 
tle fellow,  we  were  told,  was  the  son  of  a  man  who 
had  been  greatly  respected  by  the  leading  Moslems. 
In  the  outbreak  of  1907  he  had  been  caught  in  the 
bazaars.  His  friends  found  him  and  begged  him  to 
wrap  a  cloth,  which  they  offered,  around  his  fez,  a 
Mohammedan  custom  that  would  have  savecl  him. 
But  he  refused  and  a  moment  later  was  killed  by 
ruffians  from  whom  his  friends  were  powerless  to 
protect  him.  Another  boy  had  lost  his  father  in 


262  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  attempt  to  defend  a  monastery  which  had  been 
forced  and  looted.  We  learned  also  that  there 
were  many  children  there  whose  parents  were 
unknown.  They  had  been  picked  up  in  the  streets 
or  found  in  looted  houses,  too  young  to  know 
who  they  were.  Two  of  the  children  had  been 
turned  over  to  the  monks  by  kindly  Moslem 
women  after  they  had  been  taken,  doubtless  to  be 
brought  up  as  slaves. 

From  the  roof  of  the  priest's  quarters  we  had  a 
beautiful  view  down  the  narrow  Bitlis  Su  valley, 
across  the  poplar  bordered  fields  that  furnished 
bread  for  the  monastery.  To  the  right  a  hot 
mineral  spring  had  formed  a  large  bald  knoll 
of  calcium  salts,  white  as  the  snow-clad  hills  that 
rise  steeply  on  either  side  of  the  valley.  Some 
five  miles  down  the  view  is  cut  off  sharply  by  a 
rocky  mountain,  its  broken  outline  resembling 
the  spires  of  a  Gothic  cathedral. 

It  is  a  beautiful  valley  indeed,  but  the  memories 
that  haunt  it  are  most  ghastly.  The  quaint  old 
monastery,  hidden  in  its  quiet  nook,  is  a  reminder 
of  the  worst  passions  of  man,  for  the  very  children 
within  its  oft-beleaguered  walls  are  doomed  to  lives 
embittered  by  their  wrongs  and  overshadowed 
by  feelings  of  race  hatred  and  a  consciousness  of 
irresistible  oppression.  The  faces  we  saw  were 
cheerful  enough  but  seamed  with  sadness,  and  it 
was  with  heavy  hearts  that  we  passed  out  through 
the  arched  gateway  and  waved  adieu  to  the  groups 
on  the  roof  that  blessed  us  with  thin  childish  voices. 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  263 

In  Bitlis  we  learned  that  the  roads  along  the 
shores  of  Lake  Van  were  quite  impassable  on 
account  of  the  deep  snow,  and  that  communication 
with  Van  city  by  road  was  therefore  cut  off.  Our 
Tel  Kaifi  muleteers,  after  the  manner  of  their  race, 
demanded  the  whole  sum  for  which  they  had  con- 
tracted to  carry  us  to  Van.  This  they  really 
seemed  to  consider  their  due,  for  it  was  no  fault  of 
theirs  that  the  roads  were  blocked.  We  became 
quite  exasperated  by  their  demands,  for  their 
wretched  animals  had  caused  all  sorts  of  delay  and 
several  times  we  had  walked  much  of  the  day  be- 
cause our  riding  animals  could  not  carry  us.  Fi- 
nally we  paid  them  in  proportion  to  the  distance 
traversed,  and  then  had  to  eject  them  into  the 
street  vi  et  armis. 

We  were  able  to  communicate  with  Van  by 
telegraph  and  soon  received  a  message  from  Dr. 
Raynolds,  the  head  of  the  American  mission  in  that 
city,  saying  that  a  motor  boat  had  been  sent  to  the 
Bitlis  end  of  the  lake  for  us. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  securing  horses  for  the 
twelve  miles  to  the  lake-shore,  and  we  set  out  up 
the  valley  of  the  northern  stream,  bidding  adieu 
to  our  missionary  host  at  the  bridge  that  marks 
the  edge  of  the  lava-built  city.  We  had  not  gone 
far  when  we  began  to  get  into  snow,  in  which 
our  horses  floundered  dangerously.  But  it  was 
nothing  to  what  we  encountered  when  we  entered 
the  broad,  lava-filled  valley  beyond.  It  was  filled 
with  drifted  snow  six  to  eight  feet  deep  into  which 


264  The  Gate  of  Asia 

our  horses  sank  to  the  girth  at  every  step.  For- 
tunately the  packs  had  gone  ahead  in  the  chill  of 
the  dawn  when  all  was  frozen  hard,  so  we  had  only 
our  riding  horses  to  look  after.  Dismounting  we 
found  that  in  places  the  crust  would  bear  our 
weight,  and  then  for  some  distance  we  would  sink 
to  the  knees.  Whenever  this  happened  the  horses 
would  flounder  helplessly  and  we  would  have  to 
drag  them  out  to  firmer  snow.  First  our  coats 
came  off,  then  our  gloves  and  sweaters,  and  then 
we  rolled  up  our  sleeves,  unfastened  our  collars, 
and  struggled  on,  hauling  away  on  the  poor  horses, 
with  the  perspiration  running  in  streams  down  our 
backs.  Such  a  scene  I  have  never  elsewhere 
been  a  part  of.  The  broad,  bleak  valley,  bordered 
by  black  lava  cliffs  topped  by  rocky  peaks,  formed 
a  great  theatre,  blazing  in  reflected  sunlight, 
through  the  midst  of  which  struggled  the  flounder- 
ing horses  and  the  men,  dressed  rather  for  tropical 
travel  than  for  the  arctic  surroundings  in  which 
they  appeared.  It  was  hard  work  too,  the  uncer- 
tain footing  rendering  a  great  deal  of  energy  neces- 
sary. Our  muscles  soon  began  to  get  stiffened 
and  knotted,  but  we  struggled  on,  and  after  five 
hours  of  such  work  succeeded  in  reaching  bare 
ground,  on  the  summit  of  a  ridge  overlooking 
Lake  Van. 

The  only  feature  of  that  bleak  valley  was  the 
volcanic  craterlet  of  Kerkur  Dagh  that  juts  out 
its  jagged  rim  from  the  mountain  mass  on  the 
north  side.  It  is  a  part  of  the  great  Nimrud  Dagh 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  265 

from  which  came  the  huge  flow  of  lava  that  filled 
the  valley,  sealing  up  the  outlet  of  Lake  Van  and 
flowing  far  down  the  present  bed  of  the  Bitlis  Su. 

Nimrud  is  the  third  largest  volcanic  crater  in  the 
world,  a  great  circular  bowl,  five  miles  in  diameter. 
Its  walls  rise  to  a  height  just  short  of  ten  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  almost  from  the  shores  of  the 
lake,  which  itself  reaches  the  remarkable  level  of 
5200  feet.  The  floor  of  the  crater  is  2200  feet 
lower  than  its  rim  and  is  partly  filled  by  a  lake, 
partly  occupied  by  fissured  and  corrugated  lava, 
in  the  mazes  of  which  are  hot  springs,  a  very  mild 
form  of  volcanic  activity  compared  with  the  ti- 
tanic upheavals  of  lava  that  were  disgorged  from 
this  great  wound  some  ten,  possibly  fifty,  thousand 
years  ago.  So  vast  is  this  mountain  that  it  is 
difficult  to  appreciate  its  colossal  proportions.  It 
must  be  crossed  and  recrossed  to  be  understood. 
A  photograph  of  it  looks  like  a  long  flat  ridge,  for 
there  is  no  commanding  peak  near  it  from  which  it 
can  be  looked  down  upon.  As  we  rode  up  the  valley 
beside  it,  Kerkur  Dagh  was  conspicuous  enough 
with  its  jet  black  rim  of  basalt,  but  the  parent 
mountain  was  just  a  huge  wall  of  white,  curving 
so  slightly  as  to  appear  perfectly  straight. 

Some  day  we  may  hope  to  have  an  observatory 
on  Nimrud  like  those  on  Vesuvius,  Mt.  Pelee,  and 
some  of  our  American  peaks,  where  specially 
equipped  scientists  may  observe  the  phenomena 
of  past  and  present  activity,  which  will  bear  long 
and  careful  study.  At  present  the  mountain 


266  The  Gate  of  Asia 

serves  no  purpose,  although  in  an  accessible  place 
the  hot  springs  would  doubtless  be  much  visited. 
They  were  turned  to  some  use  a  short  time  ago 
when  they  furnished  a  place  of  concealment  to 
a  party  of  refugee  Armenian  revolutionists.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  the  irregularities  of  the  lava  offered 
sufficient  hiding-places,  but  an  Armenian  winter 
sees  the  thermometer  far  below  zero  for  some  time. 
So  these  desperate  fellows  built  their  beds  in 
the  hot  springs,  sleeping  with  their  bodies  under 
water  and  their  heads  out.  Thus  they  were  able 
to  save  their  meagre  supply  of  wood  for  purposes 
of  cooking. 

The  lava  flow  from  Nimrud  left  a  ridge  across 
the  upper  end  of  the  valley  which  was  the  outlet 
of  Lake  Van,  where  now  is  an  inlet  forming  the 
harbour  of  Tadvan,  a  little  Armenian  village  to 
which  we  rode  on  our  weary  horses  just  after  the 
sun  had  sunk  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  lake. 
Here  we  found  our  packs  safely  arrived  and  the 
motor-boat  waiting  on  the  shore. 

We  lost  no  time  in  embarking  on  our  tiny  craft. 
The  pilot  showed  little  inclination  to  make  an 
immediate  start,  saying  he  was  afraid  of  Kurdish 
robbers.  But  somehow  he  got  over  that  dread  and 
we  found  ourselves  pounding  away  out  into  the 
lake  in  the  brilliant  light  of  the  full  moon,  that  lit 
up  the  waters  and  the  snow-clad  shores  almost 
with  the  light  of  day,  clothing  them  nevertheless 
with  the  silver  mystery  of  moonlight.  As  we  left 
the  little  bay  of  Tadvan  we  could  plainly  see  on  our 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  267 

right  the  extraordinary  crater  of  Sheikh  Ora. 
Some  tremendous  explosion  has  carried  away  the 
whole  side  toward  the  lake  so  that  its  waters 
lave  the  inner  walls  of  the  old  crater.  As  we 
passed,  the  moonlight  entering  the  gaping  mouth 
was  searching  the  inmost  recesses,  throwing  the 
seams  of  lava  into  deep  shadow  and  lending  to  the 
splashing  waters  the  sheen  of  pearls. 

To  our  left  was  the  great  flat  rim  of  Nimrud 
flanked  by  chains  of  ghostly  ridges  that  bordered 
either  curving  shore.  The  southern  we  could  see 
little  of  for  we  were  plugging  along  near  the  bank, 
but  the  northern  culminated  far  away  across  the 
lake  in  the  stately  pointed  cone  of  Sipan,  the  high- 
est of  Van's  volcanoes,  that  rises  to  a  height  but 
little  short  of  14,000  feet. 

The  lake  of  Van  is  about  the  same  size  as  Lake 
Geneva,  but  far  higher  than  the  highest  Swiss 
or  Italian  lakes,  and  more  beautiful  than  the 
most  celebrated  of  those  mountain  playgrounds. 
Unlike  the  clear,  sweet  waters  of  its  European 
rivals  it  is  highly  charged  with  mineral  matter  in 
solution  which  renders  it  as  salt  as  the  Dead  Sea 
or  Great  Salt  Lake.  The  salts,  however,  are  quite 
different  from  either  of  those  lifeless  bodies  and 
are  by  no  means  deadly,  so  that  Van  swarms 
with  fish,  a  sort  of  bleak,  that  are  caught  in  great 
numbers  when  they  ascend  the  streams  to  spawn, 
salted,  and  shipped  all  over  Turkey,  exactly  as 
they  were  in  the  days  of  the  Kalif  ate ;  water  snakes 
and  shell-fish  are  also  to  be  found  and  a  great 


268  The  Gate  of  Asia 

variety  of  lower  life.  One  of  the  principal  salts 
is  borax,  which  gives  the  water  a  slippery  feeling, 
makes  it  lather  readily,  and  serves  as  an  excellent 
specific  in  certain  skin  diseases.  Swimming  is 
delightful  and  absolutely  safe,  but  the  water  is 
rather  unpleasant  to  the  taste  and  is  said  in  some 
cases  to  bleach  the  hair  to  a  brilliant  golden  hue. 

The  shores  are  clad  with  orchards,  vineyards, 
gardens,  and  wheat-fields,  that  produce  the  very 
finest  possible  fruit  and  grain,  on  account  of  the 
brilliant  mountain  sun,  the  rich  volcanic  soil,  and 
the  lofty  mountain  screen,  that  protects  from  the 
weather  and  furnishes  a  constant  supply  of  fresh 
water  from  the  melting  snows.  The  apples  of  the 
volcanic  orchards  near  Nimrud  were  famous  in  the 
days  of  Harun-al-Rashid  and  the  wheat  grown 
on  the  same  soil  is  almost  unrivalled  anywhere  in 
the  world.  The  grain  is  of  great  size  and  very- 
soft,  a  quality  that  would  not  appeal  to  Western 
millers,  but  is  very  desirable  where  methods  are 
primitive.  Its  most  excellent  quality  is  that  it 
will  swell  up  and  burst  after  a  few  minutes'  boiling, 
to  the  size  and  consistency  of  hominy.  Here  is  a 
"breakfast  food"  ready  prepared,  of  far  better 
flavour  than  any  of  our  much  advertised  products 
that  go  by  that  name. 

Altogether  Lake  Van  might  become  one  of  the 
most  desirable  health  resorts  in  the  world.  Its 
mountain  scenery  is  unrivalled  and  unique  in  char- 
acter, its  waters  possessed  of  healing  qualities, 
while  rich  mineral  springs  exist  for  the  inner 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  269 

man ;  its  products  are  healthful,  its  climate  leaves 
nothing  to  be  desired:  but  unfortunately  man  is 
vile.  The  jealousy  of  the  Turk  for  his  control 
over  the  subject  races  of  his  empire  makes  progress 
impossible.  The  Kurd,  who  it  must  be  admitted 
is  more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  has  his  worst 
qualities  brought  to  the  fore,  while  the  Armenian 
dares  not  trust  either  them  or  his  own  kindred, 
but  buries  his  talent  in  the  earth  and  forgets 
whatever  confidence  he  ever  had  in  his  fellow-men. 

All  this  did  not  greatly  bother  us  however  when 
we  rose  next  morning  to  find  ourselves  approaching 
the  low  shore  of  Avantz,  the  port  of  Van.  Here 
we  were  received  by  an  Armenian,  the  teacher  in 
charge  of  the  school  established  by  the  American 
mission.  He  addressed  us  in  very  good  English, 
presented  a  note  from  one  of  the  missionaries 
offering  us  the  hospitality  that  a  wanderer  never 
fails  to  find  among  his  own  kindred  in  distant 
lands,  and  helped  us  to  find  means  of  transport 
for  our  baggage. 

No  conveyance  but  an  old  farmer's  cart  was  to  be 
found  in  the  little  group  of  houses  by  the  water- 
side, so  we  set  out  to  walk  to  the  city.  The  snow 
had  disappeared  in  the  flat  plain  that  we  entered, 
but  the  heights  that  ringed  it  like  an  amphitheatre 
were  white  enough.  Some  three  miles  we  walked 
to  the  walled  city  and  there  our  guide  secured  a 
carriage,  a  perfectly  commonplace  hack,  in  which 
we  drove  for  three  miles  more  between  rows  of 
alternating  houses  and  gardens,  by  a  road  lined 


270  The  Gate  of  Asia 

with  tall  buildings,  poplars,  and  stubby  willows, 
to  the  American  mission.  There  we  found  our- 
selves in  a  large  colony  of  our  own  people  by  whom 
we  were  most  cordially  received. 

The  group  of  mission  buildings  we  found  much 
larger  than  we  had  anticipated  in  so  remote  a 
region.  Centring  around  the  simple  but  well- 
built  church  are  a  boys'  school,  a  well-equipped 
hospital,  a  girls'  school,  and  four  or  five  other 
buildings  occupied  by  the  missionaries  and  their 
families.  All  are  surrounded  by  a  strong  mud  wall 
with  gates  on  two  sides,  and  near  one  of  them 
a  dispensary  open  at  all  times,  in  charge  of  a  native 
druggist.  The  buildings  are  all  built  in  the 
native  manner  of  sun-dried  mud,  moulded  like 
adobe,  finished  with  poplar  boards,  with  which  the 
window  sashes  and  doors  are  made.  The  roofs 
are  of  willow  poles  and  mud. 

The  mission  work  was  begun  here  by  Dr. 
George  C.  Raynolds  in  1870.  He  had  served 
as  a  surgeon  in  the  navy  during  the  Civil  War,  and 
had  come  out  to  Turkey  with  his  wife  soon  after 
its  close.  Although  well  over  seventy  both  of  these 
lovely  people  are  still,  vigorous.  Mrs.  Raynolds 
goes  swimming  in  the  lake  while  the  snow  is  still 
on  the  shores  and  the  old  doctor  used  to  ride  around 
the  hills  with  us  on  a  mettlesome  black  horse  that 
he  handled  like  a  trooper. 

On  such  trips  he  used  to  regale  us  with  stories 
of  the  war  and  of  adventures  with  the  Kurds. 
One  of  these  is  well  worth  repeating  because  of  the 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  271 

light  it  throws  on  the  Kurdish  character.  While 
returning  from  a  conference  at  one  of  the  western 
stations  of  their  mission,  he  and  the  late  Mr. 
Knapp  of  Bitlis  were  delayed  and  compelled  to 
stop  for  the  night  at  a  distance  from  the  usual 
place,  in  the  village  of  a  notorious  robber,  Musa 
Bey.  As  usual  the  room  in  which  they  put  up 
was  soon  filled  with  curious  Kurds  squatting 
around  the  wall.  It  is  not  customary  to  take 
any  notice  of  such  visitors  unless  they  are  persons 
of  consequence,  who  do  not  come  unannounced. 

Imagine  Dr.  Raynolds's  surprise  when  a  servant 
whispered  in  his  ear  that  among  those  in  a  dark 
corner  was  Musa  Bey  himself.  The  news  boded 
no  good,  but  the  doctor  did  what  he  could  by  send- 
ing the  chief  a  cup  of  tea.  But  it  was  too  late, 
the  quick  Kurdish  temper  had  been  roused  by 
what  the  man  considered  a  slight,  and  he  refused 
the  cup  and  left  in  a  huff. 

The  next  day  the  two  missionaries  were  walking 
down  a  steep  place,  Dr.  Raynolds  in  advance, 
leading  his  horse.  Two  men  were  coming  up  the 
trail,  singing,  and  apparently  in  good  humour, 
though  one  was  waving  a  sword.  Dr.  Raynolds 
took  no  special  notice  of  him  until  they  came  face 
to  face,  when  the  man  cut  him  over  the  head. 
Being  a  high-spirited  and  powerful  man  he  resisted, 
and  this  so  enraged  the  Kurd  that  he  redoubled 
his  blows  and  fairly  cut  his  opponent  down.  Mr. 
Knapp  was  quickly  overpowered  and  bound. 

The  men,   one   of  whom   now  proved   to  be 


272  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Musa  Bey,  then  decided  to  truss  and  blindfold 
their  victims  and  leave  them  among  the  rocks 
near  the  trail.  Dr.  Raynolds  then  offered  to  tie 
the  handkerchief  over  his  eyes,  and  managed  in 
doing  so  to  stanch  the  blood  from  his  worst  wound, 
which  was  on  the  back  of  his  head.  Then  the  two 
men,  bound  together,  were  thrown  into  a  hollow 
among  some  boulders  and  left  to  whatever  fate 
might  bring. 

But  the  good  doctor  was  far  from  dead  yet,  and 
managed  to  disengage  his  hands  from  his  bonds 
and  unfasten  his  comrade,  who  thought  the  Kurds 
had  returned  and  began  to  pray  for  his  life.  The 
doctor  managed  to  reassure  him  and  they  got  back 
to  the  path,  finding  that  their  baggage  had  been 
passed  by  untouched.  They  walked  some  distance 
to  a  village,  where  they  met  their  men  in  some  to-do 
over  the  discovery  of  Doctor  Raynolds 's  horse, 
which  they  recognized  in  possession  of  a  caravan 
that  had  picked  him  up.  The  saddlebags  were 
found  intact  and  the  pocket  surgical  kit,  which  was 
very  necessary  at  this  juncture,  was  safe  and  sound. 

An  old  woman  produced  a  fragment  of  mirror 
with  the  assistance  of  which  the  doctor  set  about 
to  stitch  up  his  own  wounds.  These  were  very 
serious,  including  several  cuts  on  the  head,  face, 
and  arms,  one  of  which  had  left  the  tip  of  his  nose 
hanging  by  a  thread.  All  these  he  succeeded  in 
sewing  up  except  the  one  he  had  stanched  with  the 
blindfold,  and  that,  being  out  of  his  reach,  he  had 
to  leave  to  Mr.  Knapp.  That  gentleman's  hands 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  273 

shook  so  badly  that  he  did  the  work  but  ill .  How- 
ever all  healed  safely  and  the  two  were  able  to  go 
on  after  a  few  days. 

We  had  already  noticed  the  nick  in  the  Doctor's 
nose,  and  when  he  finished  the  story  he  took  off 
his  hat  and  pointed  out  the  scar  on  the  back  of  his 
head.  The  case  was  of  course  taken  up  by  our 
government  and  ten  thousand  dollars  damages 
was  collected  from  the  Turkish  government.  To 
"save  its  face"  the  Hukumet  arranged  that  this 
and  other  damages  be  added  to  the  price  of  a  man- 
of-war  then  building  in  an  American  dockyard ;  for 
the  Turk  has  no  idea  of  a  debt  of  honour,  and 
dreads  to  have  it  known  that  any  power  can 
exact  from  it  what  might  be  looked  upon  as  tribute. 

Dr.  Raynolds  no  longer  keeps  up  regular  medical 
practice  but  gives  most  of  his  time  to  teaching 
and  preaching,  in  recognition  of  which  he  has  just 
received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  from 
Williams  College,  his  alma  mater.  His  older  work 
has  been  left  to  our  host  Dr.  Ussher,  who  has  built 
and  maintained  the  hospital,  and  spends  some  time 
in  work  in  the  surrounding  villages,  Moslem  and 
Christian  alike.  He  too  has  had  adventures  in 
plenty. 

He  was  once  riding  down  a  mountain  valley 
when  a  party  of  Kurds  ambushed  his  caravan,  and 
proceeded  to  rifle  the  packs  while  one  of  their 
number  covered  Dr.  Ussher  with  a  rifle.  They 
paid  little  attention  to  the  surgical  nurse,  a  little 
Armenian  who  had  been  brought  up  by  Dr. 

18 


274  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Raynolds  and  was  devoted  to  his  benefactors.  He 
slipped  under  cover  of  a  rock  and  drawing  a  flask 
from  his  pocket  pointed  the  unstoppered  mouth  at 
the  robbers,  ordering  them  to  desist.  The  Kurd 
with  the  rifle  dived  behind  a  rock  as  is  the  custom 
of  these  mountaineers  when  fighting.  But  Dr. 
Ussher  was  too  quick  for  him  and  stood  over  him 
with  a  riding  whip,  threatening  to  give  him  a  good 
lashing  if  he  did  not  clear  out.  Seeing  the  rest  of 
the  party  had  done  so  the  man  took  to  his  heels, 
and  left  the  American  physician  missionary  to 
congratulate  his  Armenian  nurse. 

Dr.  Ussher  now  has  the  capable  assistance  of  an 
English  lady  nurse,  but  his  practice  has  grown  so 
large  that  he  is  sorely  in  need  of  a  capable  surgeon 
to  take  that  part  of  the  work  off  his  shoulders. 
There  are  also  in  the  mission  station  another  family 
who  were  on  leave  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  and 
several  ladies  whose  work  is  in  the  girls'  school 
and  the  kindergarten. 

So  isolated  is  Van  that  these  missionaries  often 
have  no  little  difficulty  in  getting  about,  especially 
in  cases  where  travel  in  winter  is  necessary.  Seri- 
ous illness  in  the  little  station  at  Bitlis  has  occa- 
sionally made  it  necessary  for  one  of  the  doctors  to 
make  the  journey  thither  through  the  snow,  for  the 
motor-boat  is  quite  a  recent  addition  to  the  local 
means  of  travel. 

Occasionally  it  is  possible  to  make  a  journey  in  a 
sledge  drawn  by  horses  over  a  narrow  path  packed 
by  foot-passengers  or  the  bullock  sledges  of  peas- 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  275 

ants  in  search  of  firewood.  Dr.  Ussher  was  once 
escorting  some  of  the  ladies  on  such  a  trip.  The 
sledge  several  times  slipped  off  the  beaten  track 
into  deep  soft  snow,  whence  everything  had  to  be 
lifted  out  again.  The  day  was  well  advanced 
and  the  doctor  feared  he  would  not  reach  shelter 
before  dark,  so  the  horses  were  kept  at  a  good 
pace.  A  steep  hill  offered  a  good  opportunity  for  a 
burst  of  speed,  and  they  fairly  flew  down.  But 
right  in  the  path  appeared  a  peasant  with  a  bullock 
sled.  If  the  horses  ran  into  it,  everything  would  be 
tangled  up  in  deep  snow  and  another  hour  wasted ; 
the  sledge  had  no  brake  and  the  peasant  was  too 
stupid  to  get  out  of  the  way.  But  Dr.  Ussher  was 
equal  to  the  occasion.  He  dashed  in  front  of 
the  horses,  seized  the  little  bullock  by  the  horns, 
and  tipped  him  over  into  the  loose  snow  just 
in  time  to  let  the  horses  pass.  Winter  travel 
in  Armenia  requires  strength,  quickness,  and  re- 
source. 

The  easiest  communication  between  Van  and 
Europe  is  by  means  of  a  road,  practicable  for  car- 
riages, which  leads  to  the  Russian  frontier  at 
Igdir,  whence  the  Transcaucasian  Railway  is 
available  to  Tiflis  and  European  Russia.  The 
chief  impediment  on  this  route  is  Russian  red  tape 
and  bureaucracy.  The  governor  of  Igdir  a  short 
time  ago  was  a  noted  martinet  who  set  up  as  an 
Asiatic  potentate.  As  no  one  was  allowed  to  sit 
in  his  presence  there  was  but  one  chair  in  his 
reception  room ;  and  he  was  so  oppressive  toward 


276  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  Armenians  that  he  was  finally  shot  dead  in 
the  open  street. 

Dr.  Ussher  once  arrived  in  Igdir  with  a  party 
of  ladies  en  route  to  America.  The  ladies  got 
through  the  customs  safely,  but  the  doctor's 
baggage  was  held  and  he  was  refused  admittance 
under  a  charge  of  being  an  Armenian  with  a  false 
passport. 

He  passed  the  gendarmes  at  the  custom-house, 
and  took  a  carriage,  ordering  the  driver  to  take 
him  straight  to  the  governor.  On  the  way  he  was 
stopped  by  a  Cossack  who  placed  him  under  arrest. 
But  the  doctor  refused  to  leave  the  carriage  and 
said  the  Cossack  could  come  along  to  the  governor's 
if  he  pleased.  Seeing  no  way  out  of  it  the  man 
got  in  and  they  drove  on. 

As  they  approached  the  quarter-guard,  the 
officer,  seeing  the  carriage  approaching  at  a  mad 
gallop,  supposed  its  occupant  to  be  an  official 
of  some  rank  on  account  of  the  Cossack,  whom  he 
took  for  an  orderly.  Frantically  he  called  out 
the  guard  to  salute  the  supposed  official,  while  the 
Cossack  gestured  to  him,  equally  frantically,  to 
desist.  But  the  officer  entirely  misunderstood  and 
hustled  his  men  into  line.  Then  the  phaeton 
flashed  by,  the  swords  of  the  guard  whirled  through 
the  air  in  the  picturesque  salute  of  the  Asiatic 
cavalry  regiments,  and  the  quiet  American,  at 
that  moment  the  Czar's  prisoner,  calmly  touched 
his  hat  in  acknowledgment. 

Arrived  at  the  gate  he  was  ushered  into   the 


Bitlis  and  Lake  Van  277 

room  with  the  single  chair,  where  several  officers 
were  gathered.  There  he  met  the  governor,  who 
examined  his  passport,  and  then  turned  to  him 
with  a  brutal  leer : 

"You  are  an  Armenian!" 

Dr.  Ussher  said  no  word  but  reached  out  for  the 
single  chair,  drew  it  to  him,  and  calmly  sat  down 
with  hands  resting  lightly  in  his  pockets,  and  eyes 
fixed  sternly  on  the  governor's  face.  The  com- 
pany gasped  and  the  governor's  jaw  dropped. 
The  coup  was  a  bold  one  but  it  worked. 

"You  are  an  American,"  said  the  martinet, 
in  a  much  altered  tone,  and  immediately  changed 
his  manner,  treating  Dr.  Ussher  with  courtesy  and 
consideration. 

In  the  course  of  his  work  in  Van,  Dr.  Ussher  has 
made  some  very  valuable  contributions  to  medical 
science.  He  has  successfully  combated  several 
epidemics  of  cholera  and  has  lately  received  the 
formal  thanks  of  the  Porte  for  his  services  during 
an  epidemic  of  typhus  among  the  troops.  Twenty- 
five  hundred  men  actually  died  of  this  loathsome 
disease,  and  the  hospitals  were  full  to  overflowing 
for  weeks.  It  was  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
study  the  hitherto  little  known  means  by  which 
the  disease  is  propagated  and  as  a  result  of  his 
experiments  the  doctor  has  announced  that  he  has 
proved  conclusively  that  it  is  carried  by  lice,  which 
swarm  in  the  barracks  occupied  by  the  troops. 

As  in  Mosul  there  is  a  Turkish  military  surgeon 
who  tries  to  rival  the  foreigner.  Dr.  Ussher  has 


278  The  Gate  of  Asia 

found  bladder  stones  a  very  prevalent  disorder 
among  the  natives,  in  and  out  of  the  city.  The 
Turk  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  and  asked 
to  see  the  operation  by  which  they  were  removed. 
He  said  he  would  like  to  perform  it  himself  and  was 
sure  he  could  if  he  had  an  opportunity  to  witness  it 
first.  Dr.  Ussher  of  course  asked  him  to  be  present. 
But  up  to  the  time  of  our  visit  he  had  not  taken 
advantage  of  the  opportunity.  Nevertheless  he 
has  a  sign  before  his  house  announcing  in  both 
Turkish  and  Armenian  that  he  is  prepared  to 
remove  bladder  stones  free  of  charge. 


CHAPTER  XII 
"VAN  AND  THE  ARMENIANS" 

HP  HE  city  of  Van  is  situated  in  a  lacustrine  plain, 
1  shaped  like  an  amphitheatre,  some  five 
miles  deep.  The  centre  of  the  city  is  a  long,  narrow 
rock  that  rises  to  a  sheer  height  of  three  hundred 
feet,  not  far  from  the  flat  lake-shore.  It  is  crowned 
today  by  an  imposing  battlemented  castle,  of 
Turkish  and  Armenian  construction,  which  occu- 
pies the  whole  summit  and  presents  a  long  serrated 
skyline  to  the  walled  city  which  lies  beneath.  In 
this  are  the  bazaars,  the  government  buildings,  and 
the  chief  mosques,  with  a  jumble  of  houses.  In 
places  the  walls  have  disappeared  but  elsewhere 
they  still  stand  with  the  partly  filled  moat  before 
them,  ruinous  and  mediaeval  looking.  A  number  of 
simple  gates  still  arch  the  streets  but  they  are 
disappointing  and  scarcely  worthy  of  notice.  The 
bazaars  are  not  elaborate  like  those  of  Arab  and 
Turkish  cities  but  mostly  of  wood  and  rather 
tawdry.  They  are  almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of 
the  Armenians,  of  course,  and  these  people  care  too 
much  for  their  profits  to  spend  them  on  their 
shops. 

279 


280  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  jewellers'  bazaar  alone  is  of  any  great 
interest,  and  that  is  on  account  of  its  silverware. 
The  art  of  laying  designs  upon  silver  with  anti- 
mony was  doubtless  once  very  widely  practised, 
but  today  it  is  confined  to  a  very  few  centres,  of 
which  Van  is  one.  Specimens  of  excellent  work  of 
this  sort  are  to  be  found,  locally  called  Van  ware. 
It  is  commonly  made  up  in  the  shape  of  bowls, 
tumblers,  napkin  rings,  brooches,  cuff-buttons, 
and  other  decorative  or  useful  articles.  Van 
silversmiths  turn  their  attention  to  other  ware  as 
well  but  unfortunately  all  their  work  is  in  the 
style  of  the  Near  East,  unfinished  according  to 
Western  standards. 

Armenia  was  once  noted  for  its  textiles,  em- 
broidery, and  lacework,  but  these  industries  have 
almost  died  out  and  those  products  have  been 
replaced  in  the  bazaars  by  Russian  and  German 
goods.  But  embroidered  aprons  and  scarves  are 
still  to  be  had  by  buying  from  destitute  families. 
They  are  but  sad  reminders  of  the  day  when 
Armenian  silks  and  woollen  goods  were  known  all 
over  the  Near  East  and  Europe,  famous  for  their 
beautiful  red  dyes  made  from  the  kirmiz  insect. 
As  the  name  of  Mosul  is  still  preserved  in  muslin, 
so  is  that  of  the  Armenian  dyestuffs  in  cramoisie 
silks,  and  the  more  familiar  words  crimson  and 
carmine.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  add  however  that 
Armenian  lace-making  has  been  revived  at  the 
American  mission,  under  the  supervision  of  Mrs. 
Ussher,  with  such  success  that  Van  laces  are  now 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       281 

to  be  had  in  some  of  the  best-known  American 
white  goods  houses.  The  work  was  taken  up  as 
relief  to  destitute  families  and  has  proved  most 
successful. 

Although  the  Armenians  own  the  bazaars  the 
other  quarters  of  the  walled  city  are  almost 
entirely  occupied  by  Moslems.  The  residences  of 
the  shopkeepers  are  in  the  "gardens"  which 
stretch  out  for  three  miles,  more  or  less,  to  the  east 
and  south.  They  lend  a  charm  to  the  city  which  is 
quite  unattainable  in  such  rainless  regions  as  those 
occupied  by  Bagdad  and  Mosul.  The  roads  that 
radiate  outward  from  the  castle  rock  are  rendered 
picturesque  by  the  carefully  nursed  poplars  and 
willows.  The  houses,  now  scattered,  now  close 
together,  though  built  of  mud,  are  often  decorated 
with  painted  balconies  and  doorways.  Garden 
walls  of  mud  are  on  either  side,  over  which,  or 
through  which,  occasional  glimpses  are  to  be  had 
of  budding  fruit  trees,  or  neat  rows  of  closely 
clipped  vines.  On  either  side  of  the  way  are 
conduits,  sometimes  open,  sometimes  covered, 
where  run  streams  of  clear  cold  water,  straight 
from  the  snows  of  Varag  Mountain  that  raises  its 
rocky  pointed  ridge  behind  the  city. 

The  people  on  these  roads  are  mostly  Armenians 
in  d  la  Franga  clothes,  for  the  great  majority  of 
the  population  are  of  that  race.  But  often  a  Kurd 
or  a  peasant  is  to  be  seen  in  the  picturesque 
Hakkiari  costume.  Turkish  officials  in  green  and 
blue  uniforms  flash  by  in  wildly  driven  carriages, 


282  The  Gate  of  Asia 

and  then  by  way  of  contrast  comes  a  slow  train  of 
bullock  carts  of  primitive  workmanship,  with 
solid  wooden  wheels  like  big  cheeses.  The  ass 
furnishes  the  usual  means  of  transporting  garden 
produce  and  so  one  often  meets  him  going  to  or 
from  the  bazaar,  often  ridden  by  a  young  rascal, 
for  nowhere  in  the  East  are  boys  and  donkeys 
disassociated. 

The  American  mission  is  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
gardens,  and  near  it  are  the  French,  Russian,  and 
English  consulates.  We  were  frequently  guests  at 
the  latter,  whose  occupant,  Captain  Seel,  we  became 
very  intimate  with.  As  he  is  only  a  vice-consul 
he  is  outranked  by  his  continental  colleagues,  a 
fact  that  would  not  appear  to  be  greatly  to  Eng- 
land's advantage  in  the  unsettled  state  of  affairs 
in  this  region.  But  the  fact  that  he  is  appointed 
from  the  army,  instead  of  from  civil  life,  and  that 
his  predecessors  for  some  time  back  have  been 
military  men,  shows  that  his  government  is  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  strategic  developments  in  Armenia. 

We  also  came  to  know  M.  Ulferieff,  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Czar.  He  has  been  kept  steadily 
at  work  to  win  over  the  favour  of  the  Armenians, 
having  a  large  sum  of  money  to  draw  on  for  that 
purpose.  We  heard  of  his  making  contributions 
in  the  guise  of  "charity"  to  influential  churches 
and  monasteries,  and  even  to  revolutionary  so- 
cieties on  various  pretexts.  He  kept  a  constant 
watch  on  his  colleagues  and  immediately  reported 
any  move  of  theirs  that  might  be  interpreted  as  an 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       283 

attempt  to  push  the  interest  of  their  governments. 
Especially  was  he  careful  to  prevent  any  friendli- 
ness toward  the  Nestorians  in  the  mountains  to  the 
south,  whom  the  Czar's  emissaries  have  made  the 
greatest  effort  to  bring  into  the  fold  of  the  Russian 
church  through  their  Patriarch.  This  they  almost 
certainly  will  not  be  able  to  accomplish,  thanks 
partly  to  the  influence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury's mission.  This  suspicious  attitude  was  a 
cause  of  endless  bother  to  Captain  Seel  a  short 
time  ago  when  he  made  a  short  excursion  toward 
the  south.  His  little  shooting  trip  was  made  the 
subject  of  conversations  between  St.  Petersburg 
and  London,  and  required  a  long  and  careful 
explanation  through  the  embassy  at  Constanti- 
nople. 

Turkish  power  in  Van  is  represented  by  an 
army  corps.  This  is  composed  almost  entirely  of 
infantry  levies  from  the  surrounding  regions. 
They  are  a  poor  lot  of  men  in  ragged  green  uni- 
forms, frequently  deformed,  badly  fed  and  dirty. 
The  officers  are  mostly  Turks  who  are  unhappy  at 
being  sent  off  to  this  remote  province  where  there 
is  no  gaiety  and  little  chance  for  graft.  We  called 
on  the  Commander  Pasha  and  found  him  a  most 
unsoldierly  old  chap,  taciturn  but  courteous 
enough.  His  house,  situated  a  half-mile  from  the 
walled  city,  was  typical  of  the  dwellings  of  the 
better  class  of  Turkish  official.  The  lower  floor 
was  unfurnished  and  unswept,  used  only  by  the 
servants.  A  staircase  led  up  through  a  chill, 


284  The  Gate  of  Asia 

cheerless  hallway  to  an  upper  floor.  A  heavy 
curtain  was  pulled  aside  from  a  doorway  and  we 
entered  the  reception  room.  The  only  articles 
of  furniture  were  some  long  benches  and  a  couple 
of  chairs  pushed  back  against  the  wall,  with  a 
small  table  and  a  few  stands,  with  round  tops  six 
inches  in  diameter,  used  to  support  coffee  cups 
and  cigarettes,  for  each  caller.  On  the  plastered 
wall  was  a  tawdry  lithograph  of  the  Sultan  and  a 
text  printed  on  cloth. 

The  commandant  came  in  when  we  had  in- 
spected the  apartment  and  asked  the  usual  ques- 
tions about  our  home,  religion,  and  the  details  of 
our  journey.  He  had  little  to  say  to  us  in  return 
but  we  gathered  that  he  disapproved  in  general  of 
the  Hamidian  policies  and  desired  to  protect  the 
Armenians. 

The  civil  power  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Vali,  who 
owed  his  position  to  Kiamil's  cabinet  and  was 
recalled  soon  after  our  arrival.  When  we  called 
on  him  in  his  office  at  the  serai  we  found  him  a 
short,  stout  man  with  a  great  black  beard.  He 
spoke  French  slowly  but  well,  and  we  found  him 
quite  willing  to  talk.  He  was  a  Kurd  and  asked 
particularly  about  our  route  below  Mosul.  He 
was  interested  to  learn  that  we  had  come  by 
Kerkuk  because  he  was  a  native  of  that  region,  and 
had  a  brother  who  was  Mudir  of  Tauk,  which  had 
been  one  of  our  stopping  places.  It  is  unusual  to 
find  a  Kurd  occupying  a  high  position  in  Turkey, 
although  it  has  frequently  happened  in  history. 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       285 

This  one  professed  a  great  desire  for  reform,  es- 
pecially in  municipal  affairs,  and  the  improvement 
of  means  of  transportation. 

Our  visit,  corresponding  so  nearly  with  his 
recall,  did  not  fail  to  command  notice.  Our 
familiarity  with  the  foreigners  and  our  frequent 
calls  on  the  prominent  officials  also  attracted 
attention.  The  result  was  that  it  was  reported 
to  us  that  we  had  become  a  subject  of  bazaar 
rumour.  Men  said  we  had  arrived  from  Con- 
stantinople with  a  caravan  load  of  reform,  which 
we  were  about  to  spread  broadcast  over  the  city, 
after  we  had  first  carefully  familiarized  ourselves 
with  it.  Such  rumours  are  quite  common  in  these 
cities  where  promises  are  being  constantly  made 
and  never  kept.  The  Turk  labours  under  the 
delusion  that  he  can  clean  out  the  filth  of  his 
Augean  stables  with  phrases.  These  assume 
astounding  proportions  when  they  have  been 
bandied  about  the  bazaars.  But  the  Turk  does 
nothing  and  only  rumours  remain. 

One  result  of  our  call  on  the  Commander  Pasha 
was  a  permit  to  visit  the  castle.  Together  with 
Dr.  Ussher  and  several  ladies  from  the  mission  we 
made  our  way  to  the  precipitous  east  end  of  the 
rock  where  we  were  joined  by  Captain  Seel  and  his 
kavass,  who  lent  both  authority  and  dignity  to 
our  party.  Going  on  to  the  north  side,  opposite 
the  city,  we  made  our  way  up  a  steep  zigzag  road 
to  an  imposing  mediaeval  gateway.  Here  we  were 
challenged  by  a  sentry  and  presented  the  com- 


286  The  Gate  of  Asia 

mandant's  permit.  But  the  officer  was  below  in 
the  plain  and  a  soldier  had  to  be  sent  to  him  with 
the  writing  for  his  verdict.  For  some  time  we 
waited,  watching  the  little  body  of  infantry 
marching  back  and  forth  below  us,  like  troops  of 
ants,  or  examining  the  carved  stone  torso  and  head 
of  a  man  that  was  discovered  a  short  time  ago 
half-buried  in  the  ruins.  It  undoubtedly  dates 
from  Assyrian  times  and  is  of  no  little  interest, 
but  it  had  been  frequently  examined  by  former 
travellers  to  little  purpose  and  did  not  suffice  to 
fill  the  time  occupied  by  that  soldier  in  finding  his 
officer. 

But  he  finally  returned  and  we  were  given  full 
permission  to  enter.  No  restrictions  were  placed 
on  our  movements  and  we  were  allowed  to  wander 
at  will,  under  the  skilled  guidance  of  Dr.  Ussher 
and  Captain  Seel. 

The  eastern  and  western  ends  of  the  rock  are 
covered  with  picturesque  but  ruinous  battle- 
mented  walls  dating  from  comparatively  recent 
times  but  containing  stones  on  which  cuneiform 
inscriptions  in  the  ancient  Urartian  language  are 
to  be  easily  seen.  These  ends  are  now  quite  de- 
serted but  the  fortifications  in  the  central  section 
are  now  filled  with  modern  mud  buildings  used  as 
storehouses,  and  as  quarters  for  the  small  garrison. 
Among  the  ruinous  walls  of  other  buildings  are 
numbers  of  old  bronze  and  iron  guns  of  strange  and 
remarkable  workmanship,  dating  from  all  the 
periods  of  Turkish  ordnance  manufacture.  One 


The  Entrance  to  the  Castle  of  Van 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       287 

very  old  piece  of  enormous  size  is  inscribed  in 
Arabic  and  could  doubtless  tell  fascinating  tales 
of  the  wars  between  the  Arab  and  the  Turk. 

The  highest  point  of  the  great  rock  is  occupied 
by  a  platform,  amid  a  jumble  of  modern  store- 
houses, where  are  ranged  a  lot  of  old  muzzle- 
loading  cannon  of  fifty  years  ago,  mounted  on 
fairly  effective  wooden  carriages.  In  an  open  shed 
in  front  of  them  are  some  breech  loaders,  mostly  of 
small  calibre,  that  might  have  been  up  to  date  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later.  But  of  modern  guns 
there  is  not  one  in  Van  castle.  Nor  is  there  an 
artilleryman  in  the  city,  although  there  are  exten- 
sive "artillery  barracks."  As  a  result  whea  the 
Sultan's  accession  day  arrived — it  was  the  day 
before  our  visit  to  the  castle — there  was  not  a  man 
to  be  found  who  could  fire  a  salute,  and  so  the 
day  passed  without  the  noise  of  guns,  contrary  to 
all  Turkish  tradition. 

Passing  around  on  the  side  toward  the  city  we 
found  some  large  rock-hewn  chambers,  the  work 
of  Urartian  artisans  who  have  left  inscriptions 
beside  them.  Some  of  these  are  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  square  and  there  are  said  to  be  six  or  eight, 
though  the  position  of  some  is  concealed  by  the 
Turks,  who  alternately  deny  their  existence  and 
explain  that  they  are  uninteresting  and  filled  with 
military  stores. 

This  city  side  of  the  rock  is  absolutely  precipi- 
tous and  looks  straight  down  upon  the  walled 
city  with  its  flat  roofs  and  domes.  During  the 


288  The  Gate  of  Asia 

massacre  of  1907  a  number  of  people  caught  in  the 
bazaars  were  driven  over  the  dizzy  brink  into  a 
small  group  of  gardens  below.  But  this  idea  was 
not  original  with  the  Turks.  The  Mongols  did 
the  same  during  their  ghastly  sack  in  1398,  count- 
ing their  victims  by  thousands,  instead  of  the  tens 
of  the  Turkish  massacre.  The  result  is  that  the 
foot  of  the  rock  has  a  bad  name  and  none  will 
build  near  it.  So  it  is  occupied  by  gardens  and  a 
little  grove  of  poplars,  which  has  become  a  favour- 
ite picnic  place. 

Skirting  the  city  side  we  came  back  to  the  west 
end  of  the  rock  near  the  gate  by  which  we  had 
gained  admission.  Here  we  found  more  rock- 
hewn  chambers  with  inscriptions  on  the  face  of  the 
cliff  beside  their  low,  square  entrances.  These 
chambers  are  smaller  than  the  more  easterly  ones, 
and  only  about  six  feet  high.  The  larger  has  four 
large  niches  in  the  farther  wall  resembling  couches, 
but  what  they  were  used  for  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  They  may  have  been  occupied  by  some 
primitive  population,  they  may  have  been  guard- 
rooms or  stores.  The  inscriptions  unfortunately 
give  us  no  definite  information  on  that  subject. 

We  descended  by  the  extreme  western  end  of  the 
great  rock  and  found  there  the  foundation  of  what 
was  doubtless  an  ancient  gateway.  It  is  built  of 
enormous  monolithic  blocks  laid  without  mortar, 
many  of  them  inscribed  with  cuneiform  letters. 
One  block,  which  Dr.  Ussher  and  I  measured  with 
some  difficulty,  was  twenty-four  feet  long,  four 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       289 

feet  wide,  and  nearly  three  feet  high.  So  large 
are  these  stones  that  not  a  few  have  been  broken 
by  their  own  weight  on  account  of  the  gradual 
settling  of  the  wall  through  the  twenty-five  or 
thirty  centuries  that  have  elapsed  since  the  time 
the  inscriptions  tell  us  it  was  built.  It  is  only  from 
four  to  fifteen  feet  high  and  may  be  traced  not 
more  than  sixty  feet  along  the  front,  but  it  is 
nevertheless  a  very  striking  memorial  of  a  long 
past  age. 

Besides  the  inscriptions  on  the  castle  rock  there 
are  many  on  prominent  outcrops  in  the  plain  and 
on  the  hills  that  border  it,  especially  Topra  Kala, 
the  chief  high-place,  the  temple  of  ancient  times. 
The  most  important  of  all  is  a  huge  trilingual  on 
the  precipitous  face  of  the  castle  rock,  above  the 
city.  So  large  are  the  characters  that  they  can  be 
made  out  from  the  streets  with  the  naked  eye  and 
clearly  seen  with  an  opera-glass.  It  is  signed  by 
the  great  Xerxes,  who  returns  thanks  in  three 
languages  to  his  god  Ahuramazda,  the  Persian 
sun-god,  for  granting  him  the  victory  over  this 
country. 

It  was  by  means  of  this  inscription  that  the 
Urartian,  or  as  it  has  also  been  termed,  the  Vannic, 
language  has  been  deciphered  and  the  numerous 
inscriptions  translated. 

From  them  we  learn  that  Van,  or  as  they  called 
it  Dhuspas,  was  the  capital  in  the  ninth  century 
B.C.  of  Ishpuinis  and  his  son  Menuas,  who  spread 
the  arms  of  Urartu  over  all  of  what  we  know  as 

19 


290  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Armenia,  fortifying  the  mountain  passes  against 
Assyria,  and  even  taking  possession  of  some  of  the 
plains  beyond.  This  empire  was  held  by  Menuas's 
son  Argistis  until  his  death  in  760  B.C. 

It  was  a  period  of  decadence  in  Assyria,  but  in 
745  Tiglath  Pileser  II.  came  to  the  throne  and 
began  to  take  the  offensive.  By  735  he  had  reached 
the  shores  of  the  lake  and  besieged  the  Urartian 
King  Sharduris  II.  in"  his  castle  of  Dhuspas.  But 
take  it  he  could  not,  for  the  art  of  assaulting  forti- 
fied places  was  young  in  those  days,  and  the  rock 
of  Dhuspas  was  impregnable. 

In  the  sixth  century  we  find  the  kingdom  of  Van 
once  more  a  power  to  be  reckoned  with.  Its  King 
was  Tigranes  I.,  who  was  a  friend  and  ally  of  Cyrus 
the  Persian  and  said  to  have  been  the  brother-in- 
law  of  Astyages  the  Mede,  whom  Cyrus  overthrew 
in  549.  Tigranes  was  followed  by  a  strong  line  of 
kings  until  the  conquest  of  Van  by  Xerxes,  of 
which  we  have  no  record  except  the  great  inscrip- 
tion on  the  castle  rock. 

The  Romans  under  Pompey  besieged  and  took 
Van  in  67  B.C.  and  slew  its  King  Tigranes  for 
sheltering  the  great  Mithridates,  the  last  King  of 
the  neighbouring  kingdom  of  Pontus,  one  of  the 
worst  enemies  of  Rome.  But  Rome  could  not 
hold  the  Armenian  mountains  and  the  ancient 
kings  of  Urartu  were  succeeded  by  a  series  of  pagan 
and  Christian  monarchs,  the  last  of  whom  finally 
fell  before  the  Turks  in  1365. 

The    affinities    of    the   ancient    Urartians    are 


8- 

C-t 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       291 

difficult  to  establish.  Although  -they  used  the 
Semitic  cuneiform  character  their  language  was 
anything  but  Semitic,  nor  was  it  Turanian.  It  is 
probable  that  they  belonged  to  the  Mediterranean 
race  and  were  related  to  the  people  of  the  ^Egean 
civilization  who  built  Mycenae,  and  whose  remains 
have  been  found  in  many  parts  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean basin.  Their  stonework,  and  the  few  examples 
of  pottery  and  metal  work  that  remain  to  us,  bear 
out  this  theory.  Like  the  Philistines  and  some  of 
the  contemporary  races  in  Syria,  they  were  prob- 
ably driven  from  their  homes  by  an  Aryan  invasion 
from  Europe,  the  great  Hellenic  invasion  that 
Aryanized  Greece,  Ionia,  and  Crete. 

The  Aryanization  of  Armenia  was  due  to  a  similar 
movement  on  the  part  of  the  northern  branch  of 
the  peoples  who  entered  Greece,  the  Thraco- 
Phrygians.  They  moved  eastward  along  the 
southern  shore  of  the  Black  Sea,  founding  a  power- 
ful kingdom  in  Phrygia  and  completely  dominating 
Armenia  after  the  Persian  conquest.  But  they 
never  succeeded  in  getting  farther  eastward, 
because  the  country  there  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Indo-Iranian  Medes.  Neither  the  one  race  nor 
the  other  has  ever  succeeded  in  effectively  crossing 
the  Gate  of  Asia. 

There  was  doubtless  much  admixture  of  Par- 
thian Turanian  blood  among  the  inhabitants  of 
Armenia  for  the  countries  all  around  were  con- 
quered by  that  people  and  Tigranes  the  King 
cemented  his  treaty  with  Mithridates  by  marrying 


292  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  daughter  of  that  Parthian  King.  The  further 
introduction  of  Semitic  blood  which  I  have  else- 
where mentioned  has  made  the  Armenians  the 
most  mixed  of  all  races,  and  it  is  most  certainly  to 
this  quality  that  they  owe  their  lack  of  cohesion. 

Systematic  oppression  by  the  Turks  has  greatly 
increased  this  defect.  All  over  Armenia  Moslem 
colonies  have  been  planted  in  villages  from  which 
the  Christian  inhabitants  have  been  ousted,  until 
today  there  is  no  province  in  which  the  Armenians 
can  claim  a  majority.  Even  about  Lake  Van,  the 
very  heart  of  their  ancient  home,  they  are  out- 
numbered everywhere  except  in  the  city  itself. 
Way  is  made  for  Moslem  colonists  either  by  massa- 
cre or  by  various  forms  of  official  oppression.  The 
simplest  form  is  by  selling  out  the  property  to  pay 
excessive  taxes.  Armenians  are  assessed  five 
times,  it  is  estimated,  as  high  as  the  Kurds.  The 
latter  are  permitted  to  pay  in  produce,  but  the 
Christians  are  required  to  pay  cash,  which  is  so 
scarce  in  the  country  districts  that  the  demand  is 
ridiculous.  When  the  people  cannot  pay,  their 
village  is  condemned  and  their  houses  and  fields 
sold  to  the  Kurds,  who  pay  in  produce  or  secure 
cash  from  Abdul-Hamid's  notorious  Agricultural 
Bank,  on  mortgage. 

This  institution  is  one  of  the  most  despicable 
means  of  oppression  imaginable.  Not  only  does  it 
advance  money  to  Kurds  on  lands  they  take  from 
Armenians,  but  to  the  Armenians  also,  on  short 
mortgages  at  high  rates  of  interest.  Officials  see 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       293 

to  it  that  the  victims  are  not  able  to  pay  off  their 
obligations,  the  mortgage  is  foreclosed,  and  the 
Christians  are  left  homeless. 

Whenever  a  village  becomes  prosperous  by 
reason  of  some  special  industry  or  trade,  govern- 
ment officials  step  in  with  some  excuse  and  destroy 
the  source  of  prosperity.  For  instance  silk  culture 
was  revived  after  the  massacres  in  1907  in  Chen- 
giler  near  Brusa.  The  inhabitants  became  fairly 
prosperous  and  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
Young  Turks  in  1909.  They  sent  word  to  the  Vali, 
one  of  the  prominent  members  of  the  party  named 
Bekr  Sami  Bey,  to  look  after  this  blight  on  his 
administration.  The  plan  he  adopted  was  to 
surround  the  village  at  the  time  when  the  silk- 
worms were  about  to  spin  their  cocoons  and  needed 
most  food,  on  the  plea  of  attempting  to  arrest 
some  robbers  whom  he  accused  the  villagers  of 
harbouring.  No  one  was  permitted  to  leave  the 
houses  under  any  circumstances,  so  no  mulberry 
leaves  could  be  collected  and  the  silkworms  all 
died.  Then  a  rigorous  house  to  house  search  was 
instituted  and  the  zaptiehs  took  whatever  they 
chose.  At  one  stroke  the  silk  industry  of  the 
village  was  ruined,  and  the  inhabitants  robbed  of 
all  goods  that  might  have  been  turned  into  ready 
cash  to  refurnish  the  depleted  stock. 

Although  the  Moslem  villagers  are  supplied  with 
arms  and  ammunition  of  the  most  modern  type, 
the  Armenians  are  not  permitted  to  have  arms  of 
any  description,  and  their  houses  are  searched  at 


294  The  Gate  of  Asia 

regular  intervals  to  prevent  any  being  concealed. 
This  leaves  them  utterly  helpless  in  the  face  of  an 
incursion  by  Kurds,  who  camp  on  the  helpless 
villagers  and  literally  eat  them  out  of  house  and 
home.  It  paves  the  way  for  the  worst  outrage  of 
all,  the  systematic  violation  of  women. 

Abdul-Hamid  conceived  the  typically  Turkish 
idea  of  preventing  the  appearance  of  another 
generation  of  Armenians  by  arranging  that  Arme- 
nian women  should  not  bear  Armenian  children. 
He  therefore  instituted  the  custom,  unheard  of 
under  pre-existing  conditions,  of  abducting  and 
violating  women.  Today  that  policy,  though 
instituted  under  the  old  regime,  is  carried  on  by 
the  Young  Turks.  The  men  of  a  village  are 
hounded  into  the  army  by  the  officials,  and  Kurds 
are  sent  in  to  wreek  their  will  on  the  defenceless 
wives  and  daughters.  The  horror  of  such  a 
proceeding  is  almost  inconceivable,  but  several  in- 
stances came  to  our  notice,  and  we  were  assured 
frequently  by  missionaries,  consuls,  and  others  in 
a  position  to  know,  that  it  was  a  regular  system, 
not  only  in  Armenia  but  in  the  country  occupied 
by  the  Syrian  Christians  as  well. 

Needless  to  say  this  method  has  not  accom- 
plished its  purpose,  and  means  have  been  adopted 
to  get  rid  of  unwelcome  Armenian  babies.  The 
most  diabolical  of  these  occurred  under  Young 
Turk  rule  in  Zeitun,  near  Aintab.  The  people  of 
this  village  are  of  sturdy  peasant  stock  and  have 
successfully  held  the  Turks  off  for  generations. 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       295 

In  1895  five  hundred  of  their  number,  armed  with 
ramshackle  old  muskets,  repelled  a  whole  Turkish 
army  corps,  armed  with  modern  weapons.  For 
weeks  they  kept  their  attackers  shivering  in  the 
snow,  until  the  sluggish  Powers,  their  eyes  finally 
opened  by  the  awful  excesses  of  that  frightful  year, 
were  compelled  to  intervene,  and  so  saved  for  the 
moment  the  reputation  of  the  Turkish  army.  No 
such  methods  worked  in  Zeitun,  but  a  "Reform" 
administration  found  a  way.  They  had  heard  of 
compulsory  vaccination  in  English  and  French 
colonies.  An  order  went  out  that  all  the  people  in 
the  Aintab  vilayet  should  be  vaccinated.  A  party 
of  troops  and  military  surgeons  was  sent  to  Zeitun 
and  vaccinated  four  hundred  babies.  Before 
morning  every  single  one  of  them  was  dead. 
Nowhere  else  was  the  order  enforced;  it  was 
promulgated  for  the  murder  of  the  Zeitunli  babies, 
and  once  its  object  was  attained  it  was  forgotten. 
And  this  incident  did  not  happen  under  Abdul- 
Hamid,  but  under  Young  Turk  rule  in  1913. 
Rumours  of  it  reached  Van  at  the  time  of  our 
visit,  but  so  callous  have  the  people  grown  that 
the  most  awful  tales  of  horror  are  mere  daily 
experiences. 

It  is  of  course  quite  hopeless  for  foreigners  to 
interfere.  A  short  time  ago  it  was  reported  that  a 
village,  in  full  view  of  the  Americans'  summer 
home  at  Artemid,  quite  near  the  city,  was  being 
plundered,  the  men  killed  and  the  women  outraged. 
Dr.  Ussher  could  see  the  blaze  with  his  field- 


296  The  Gate  of  Asia 

glasses  and  was  begged  by  friends  in  the  city  to 
aid  the  villagers.  He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
to  the  serai  to  see  the  Vali.  That  bland  Turk,  not 
knowing  that  the  doctor  had  been  at  Artemid, 
said  that  the  reports  were  false,  there  was  no  fire, 
only  an  attempt  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  his 
dear  missionary  friends,  and  slander  his  much 
persecuted  but  really  noble  administration.  When 
he  heard  that  his  caller  had  seen  the  fire  he  said 
it  was  accidental.  But  Dr.  Ussher  was  obdurate 
and  the  Vali  tried  to  appeal  to  his  pity.  It  was  a 
group  of  wild  Kurds,  thousands  of  them,  well 
armed  and  protected  by  outposts  that  ambushed 
the  roads.  His  heart  bled  for  the  faithful  Arme- 
nian peasants,  but  he  could  do  nothing  with  his 
mutinous  troops  against  such  devils. 

Finally  Dr.  Ussher,  refusing  to  be  browbeaten 
or  hoodwinked,  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  guard  of 
zaptiehs,  commanded  by  one  of  the  chief  officers 
of  that  corps  in  the  city,  a  major,  and  set  out  for 
the  village.  He  soon  found  that  the  object  of  the 
zaptiehs  was  to  hinder,  not  to  help.  They  insisted 
on  camping  in  a  village  two  miles  or  so  from  the 
scene  of  trouble,  although  the  burning  village  was 
not  more  than  an  hour's  brisk  canter  from  the 
city.  They  said  it  was  getting  dark  and  they 
feared  ambush  by  the  Kurds,  although  Dr.  Ussher 
well  knew  that  those  gentry  were  too  intent  on 
plunder  and  outrage  to  think  of  zaptiehs.  When 
he  tried  to  go  on  however  he  was  compelled  to 
remain,  for  the  major  could  not  think  of  allowing 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       297 

a  foreigner  to  risk  his  life,  on  account  of  the  com- 
plications certain  to  ensue. 

The  next  morning  the  party  set  out  at  a  late 
hour.  On  the  way  they  met  Kurds  driving  off 
animals  loaded  with  plunder.  The  bodies  of  one 
or  two  men,  shot  in  the  back,  lay  beside  the  road. 
They  met  a  woman  in  a  state  bordering  on  collapse 
and  frightfully  bruised.  Dr.  Ussher  questioned 
her  and  she  answered  intelligently  despite  the 
efforts  of  the  voluble  major,  who  sought  to  drown 
her  words  in  affected  sympathy.  She  was  telling 
how  her  husband  was  murdered  and  her  babe  killed 
at  her  breast,  when  she  stopped  with  a  look  of  ab- 
ject fear,  at  something  going  on  behind  her  ques- 
tioner's back.  He  turned  quickly  and  saw  one  of 
the  zaptiehs  threatening  the  woman  with  a  rifle,  and 
motioning  to  her  to  keep  silent.  Having  directed 
the  woman  to  the  mission  he  rode  on  to  the  village. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  one  of  the  most 
awful  desolation.  In  the  fields  outside  were  bodies 
of  men  and  women,  trees  were  felled  and  crops 
destroyed.  In  the  village  itself  most  of  the  huts 
were  burned  and  the  streets  were  choked  with 
bodies.  He  went  right  to  work  to  help  those  that 
still  breathed  while  the  zaptiehs  did  all  they  could 
to  conceal  the  extent  of  the  horror,  impeding 
him  in  his  work,  and  throwing  bodies  into  the 
houses  that  still  burned.  They  made  no  attempt 
to  hinder  the  Kurds  who  were  still  making  off  with 
loads  of  plunder. 

At  nightfall  they  returned  to  their  last  night's 


298  The  Gate  of  Asia 

camp,  trying  to  take  the  doctor  with  them  but 
he  refused  to  go.  There  was  but  one  house  high 
enough  to  admit  his  horse,  and  in  that  he  spent 
the  night  with  a  great  gaping  hole  in  the  roof  above 
his  head.  About  midnight  the  place  was  brilliantly 
lighted  up ;  the  Kurds  had  returned  and  set  fire  to 
the  adjoining  hut.  He  sallied  out  but  was  offered 
no  violence,  the  robbers  having  doubtless  been 
warned  by  the  zaptiehs. 

He  was  able  to  do  little  but  care  for  the  wounded, 
among  whom  he  spent  several  days  despite  the 
attempts  of  the  Turks  to  get  him  away  so  that  his 
charges  would  die.  He  is  able  to  bear  witness  to 
the  total  destruction  of  that  village,  with  the 
connivance,  doubtless  under  the  orders,  of  the 
Turks,  and  to  the  unspeakable  horrors  that  were 
perpetrated  in  it. 

The  prearranged  massacres  of  Abdul-Hamid's 
time  beginning  with  the  isolated  Sasun  massacre 
in  1894,  and  carried  on  until  his  deposition,  and 
the  equally  dreadful  massacres  under  the  Young 
Turks  in  1909,  were  the  grand  coups  of  the  policy 
of  extermination.  In  Van  itself  the  Moslem 
population  is  so  much  in  the  minority  that  the 
city  has  often  escaped  the  general  massacres  that 
have  had  well-known  and  terrible  effects  in  such 
places  as  Adana,  Erzerum,  Bitlis,  and  Constanti- 
nople itself.  But  there  have  been  special  massacres 
organized  for  Van  in  which  the  bloodiest  work  is 
done  by  Kurds  brought  in  from  the  hills,  and  by 
the  Turkish  troops. 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       299 

In  these  times  the  American  mission  has  been 
the  chief  place  of  refuge  for  the  miserable  people, 
its  compound  having  sheltered  hundreds.  The 
missionaries  too  have  been  the  foremost  champions 
of  the  oppressed.  After  the  massacre  of  1905  had 
gone  on  for  several  days,  when  the  mission  was 
crowded  with  refugees  and  the  food  was  giving  out, 
Dr.  Ussher  decided  to  attempt  to  reach  the  Vali. 
His  act  met  the  disapproval  of  the  others  but  he 
was  determined  to  push  the  matter.  Saddling  his 
horse  he  rode  down  the  long  crooked  road  that 
leads  through  the  gardens  to  the  walled  city.  As 
he  approached  a  quarter  inhabited  by  Moslems, 
a  man  burning  trash  in  the  road  looked  at  him  in 
amazement,  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes. 
Then  he  bolted  into  the  house  and  reappeared 
with  a  rifle  which  he  levelled  at  the  approaching 
horseman.  Dr.  Ussher,  looking  his  man  straight 
in  the  eye,  rode  right  up  to  the  muzzle.  A  crowd 
began  to  gather.  The  man  with  the  rifle  hesitated. 
If  he  killed  a  foreigner  there  might  be  trouble  and 
it  would  be  known  who  fired  the  shot.  With  a 
curse  he  turned  and  entered  the  house,  partly  on 
account  of  innate  cowardice,  partly  out  of  the 
respect  always  found  in  Turkey  for  the  life  of  an 
"European." 

Dr.  Ussher  rode  on  to  the  gate  of  the  serai 
through  an  excited  crowd  that  stared  at  him  in  the 
utmost  astonishment  not  unmixed  with  awe.  He 
sent  his  name  to  the  Vali  and  received  word  that 
he  would  be  received.  But  as  he  mounted  the 


300  The  Gate  of  Asia 

stairs  to  the  office  two  zaptiehs  levelled  their 
rifles  at  his  breast  and  told  him  to  go  back.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  seized  from  behind  and  shut 
up  with  a  guard  in  a  room  on  the  lower  floor.  In 
an  adjoining  apartment  a  group  of  officers  sat 
talking  loudly.  Every  few  minutes  someone  would 
enter  and  read  a  telegram,  while  reports  were 
constantly  brought  in  regarding  the  progress  of  the 
massacre.  These  and  the  discussions  that  followed 
were  plainly  heard  by  the  American  in  the  other 
room.  The  telegrams  were  mainly  inquiries  from 
Constantinople;  a  few  were  orders. 

For  hours  Dr.  Ussher  was  kept  in  that  room,  and 
still  he  heard  the  officers,  but  no  word  came  from 
the  Vali.  Then  there  was  a  great  stir  in  the  ad- 
joining room;  another  telegram  was  read.  It  was 
different  from  the  others  and  contained  an  order 
for  the  cessation  of  the  massacre.  It  was  received 
with  disapproval  and  curses  by  the  officers,  whom 
it  required  to  go  out  and  recall  their  troops,  crazed 
with  liquor  and  lust. 

Almost  immediately  an  officer  entered  Dr. 
Ussher 's  room  and  conducted  him  with  great 
courtesy  to  the  Vali.  He  was  politely  received, 
offered  a  chair,  and  the  usual  coffee  and  cigarettes. 
The  patient  Vali  listened  to  his  story  with  evident 
interest,  assured  him  of  his  sympathy,  of  his 
benevolent  love  for  the  Armenians,  and  told  of  his 
gallant  efforts  to  prevent  further  massacre.  He 
said  that  he  had  been  working  day  and  night  to 
succour  his  Christian  subjects,  and  at  last  had  been 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       301 

able  to  quiet  the  populace.  So  Dr.  Ussher  rode 
back  to  the  crowded  compound  with  his  message  of 
peace,  well  knowing  that  the  Vali  was  a  liar,  but 
satisfied  that  the  blood-thirst  of  the  Sultan  was 
glutted  for  the  moment. 

The  reason  for  this  oppression  is  simply  fear. 
The  Hukumet  is  kind  enough  to  those  it  can 
handle  easily,  for  instance  the  Kurds.  But  the 
Armenians  have  refused  to  be  treated  like  cattle, 
to  be  exploited  for  the  benefit  of  their  far  less 
civilized  masters.  Moreover  they  have  excited 
sympathy  in  Europe  which  has  resulted  in  de- 
mands for  reform,  the  very  idea  of  which  is  heartily 
detested  by  the  Turk,  Old  or  Young.  Through 
it  he  has  lost  province  after  province  in  Europe, 
and  its  appearance  in  Armenia  would  mean  that 
the  position  of  Turk  and  rayat  would  be  reversed. 
The  Armenian  knows  how  to  make  money,  the 
Turk  only  how  to  take  it,  and  money  means  power 
in  the  venal  Ottoman  Empire.  The  Turk,  seeing 
the  time  coming  when  he  shall  be  prevented  from 
extortionate  exploitation  of  the  Armenians,  has 
decided  that  the  Armenians  must  go.  As  a  result, 
if  his  own  statistics  are  to  be  believed,  he  has 
succeeded  in  reducing  their  number  by  one  half, 
from  4,000,000  in  the  year  of  the  Berlin  Congress, 
1878,  to  1,900,000  in  1913. 

This  wholesale  massacre  and  oppression  has 
naturally  led  to  the  formation  of  extreme  revolu- 
tionary organizations  known  as  Fedais,  "those 
who  sacrifice  themselves."  There  are  a  large 


3O2  The  Gate  of  Asia 

number  of  societies  grouped  under  this  head  which 
incline  more  and  more  to  two  large  divisions,  the 
Armeni  whose  policy  is  a  sort  of  passive  resistance, 
and  the  Tashnakists,  "men  of  the  banner,"  who 
seek  to  make  an  autonomous  Armenia  by  resisting 
violence  with  violence,  and  even  encouraging  the 
Turk  in  his  wild  orgies,  hoping  that  he  will  over- 
ride himself  and  bring  the  Powers  to  the  aid  of  the 
oppressed.  They  stop  at  nothing,  having  been 
known  more  than  once  to  deliberately  invite  the 
massacre  of  their  more  peaceful  fellow-country- 
men, whose  fate,  it  must  be  admitted,  they  do  not 
hesitate  to  share.  There  is  little  doubt  that  they 
are  responsible  for  the  death  of  some  of  the 
Americans  who  perished  in  the  Cilician  massacres, 
whom  they  fired  upon  in  the  hope  that  their 
murder  would  cause  immediate  intervention. 

Their  favourite  arms  are  Mauser  pistols  and 
dynamite  bombs,  instruments  of  destruction  they 
have  learned  the  use  of  in  the  Caucasus.  They 
often  are  well-supplied  with  rifles,  among  which 
Russian  military  arms  are  predominant,  supplied 
from  the  Caucasus,  doubtless  as  a  free  contribution 
from  the  Russian  government,  which  gives  these 
rascals  every  assistance  and  looks  upon  their 
activity  as  the  chief  means  of  preparing  the  way 
for  annexation  of  the  coveted  provinces  of  Turkish 
Armenia. 

The  Tashnakists  are  financed  by  the  voluntary 
contributions  of  Armenians  all  over  the  world,  by 
money  raised  in  Europe  and  America  for  "schools 


"Van  and  the  Armenians'*       303 

and  orphanages,"  by  Russian  official  "charity," 
and  by  forced  loans  from  their  more  passive  fellow- 
countrymen,  especially  rich  merchants  who,  having 
much  to  lose,  do  not  sympathize  with  an  organiza- 
tion whose  very  name  denotes  sacrifice.  This  last 
method  of  extortion  and  blackmail  is  constantly 
employed  in  Van  and  several  ghastly  crimes  have 
resulted  from  refusal  of  the  often  exorbitant 
demands. 

During  our  stay  in  the  city  a  prominent  citizen 
was  ordered  to  place  a  sum  of  money  in  a  tree 
behind  his  house,  just  outside  the  garden  wall. 
Instead  he  set  three  men  to  watch  the  tree.  During 
the  night  a  man  approached  the  place,  and  the 
watchers  incautiously  rushed  out  to  seize  him. 
They  were  greeted  by  a  hail  of  bullets  from  Tash- 
nakists  concealed  in  the  street  and  their  riddled 
bodies  were  picked  up  next  morning.  The  man 
whom  all  believed  to  be  the  leader  in  this  crime 
was  pointed  out  to  us  a  day  or  so  later,  strutting 
about  the  streets  in  a  conspicuous  blue  riding  suit, 
his  fez  on  one  side,  and  with  an  air  of  prosperity 
and  of  superiority  to  those  about  him  on  his  coarse 
heavily  mustachioed  countenance. 

The  Tashnakist  society  does  act  at  times  as  a 
vigilance  committee,  administering  a  primitive 
sort  of  justice.  The  method  used  is  almost  in- 
variably assassination  by  bullet  or  bomb.  The 
braggadocio  which  is  a  prominent  characteristic 
of  this  largely  Oriental  people  comes  out  con- 
spicuously on  such  occasions  and  it  is  always  well 


304  The  Gate  of  Asia 

known  that  the  Tashnakists  are  the  slayers.  This 
Vehmgericht  is  not  confined  to  Moslem  enemies 
of  the  society  however,  although  a  prominent,  if 
notorious,  Kurd  and  a  Vali  of  Van  were  both 
numbered  among  its  victims.  It  is  applied  to 
Armenians  also  whose  zeal  is  too  slack,  or  who 
prove  not  to  be  pliable  in  the  hands  of  the  radicals. 
The  worst  instance  of  this  was  the  murder  of  the 
good  Bishop  of  Akhtamar,  an  historic  island 
monastery  in  the  lake  a  few  miles  from  Van,  who 
was  a  pacifist  leader  and  dared  to  take  literally  his 
Master's  command  to  turn  the  other  cheek.  The 
murder  was  dastardly  in  the  extreme,  but  the 
victim  was  wrong  as  events  have  shown.  His 
flock  is  the  most  wretched  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  city,  murders  are  frequent  and  they  have 
been  compelled  to  pasture  the  flocks  of  their 
Kurdish  neighbours  in  their  laboriously  cultivated 
wheat-fields,  until  they  have  given  up  tilling  the 
ground  entirely.  At  the  time  of  our  visit  we  heard 
that  several  hundred  sheep  had  been  kept  during 
the  summer  in  some  isolated  mountain  valleys 
and  were  wintering  in  the  shelter  of  the  monastery 
itself.  They  were  the  last  hope  of  the  forlorn 
villagers,  who  hoped  to  eke  out  another  year 
through  them.  But  later  in  the  spring  when  the 
sheep  were  about  to  be  sent  to  market  in  the  city, 
a  tribe  of  Kurds  suddenly  swooped  down  on  them, 
killed  two  of  the  shepherds,  and  drove  the  sheep 
off  to  the  hills. 

The  attempts  of  the  revolutionaries  to  precipi- 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       305 

tate  a  massacre  have  not  always  been  successful. 
Abdul-Hamid  had  a  way  of  picking  his  own  time, 
and  would  not  be  dragooned  into  anything.  In 
1906  a  party  entered  the  city  and  attacked  a 
police  patrol,  unquestionably  trying  to  make 
trouble,  for  Turkish  police  do  not  attack  armed 
men  if  they  can  help  it.  When  they  had  killed 
a  policeman  the  Tashnakists  took  refuge  in  the 
house  of  a  prominent  citizen  and  took  care  to 
advertise  their  presence.  Troops  soon  dislodged 
them  and  burnt  the  house;  but  the  trouble- 
breeders  escaped  through  a  maze  of  gardens,  and 
scattered  among  the  Armenian  quarters.  Here  was 
a  situation  indeed!  If  the  troops  and  gendarmes 
were  turned  loose  in  the  city  in  search  of  the 
refugees  there  would  be  a  massacre  beyond  ques- 
tion, if  not  the  face  of  the  Turks  would  be  "black- 
ened. "  For  twenty-four  hours  the  telegraph  wires 
between  Constantinople  and  Van  were  kept  busy 
with  official  communications.  But  at  the  end  of 
that  time  the  troops  were  drawn  off.  The  time 
was  not  ripe  then,  but  full  retribution  was  exacted 
in  due  time. 

The  massacre  of  1908  was,  however,  precipitated 
by  Tashnakist  excesses,  but  not  apparently  in 
pursuance  of  any  prearranged  plan.  One  of  the 
inner  circle  of  the  revolutionary  chiefs  came  to  the 
Vali  in  February,  and  offered  to  betray  his  fellow- 
leaders  in  the  house  where  they  were  to  meet  that 
night,  and  to  expose  the  hiding  places  of  large 
numbers  of  rifles  and  a  quantity  of  ammunition. 

M 


306  The  Gate  of  Asia 

This  man,  David  by  name,  had  had  a  jealous 
quarrel  with  one  of  his  colleagues  and  was,  it  is 
said,  condemned  to  death  by  them. 

Instead  of  taking  immediate  action  the  Vali 
decided  to  wait  until  the  morrow  and  then  go 
after  the  arms,  fearing  Turklike  to  exceed  his 
instructions.  Vain  were  the  pleas  of  the  quondam 
Tashnakist,  who  knew  what  his  life  would  be 
worth  if  any  of  his  former  associates  escaped. 
Search  was  begun  next  morning  under  his  direc- 
tion. House  after  house  was  entered  without 
opposition,  so  suddenly  had  the  blow  fallen,  and 
with  unusual  sobriety  on  the  part  of  the  Turks. 
Hollows  were  found  in  the  sun-dried  brick  walls, 
which  lend  themselves  readily  to  the  making  of 
such  hiding  places.  All  sorts  of  buildings  were 
entered,  and  cache  after  cache  was  revealed,  even 
in  such  places  as  churches  and  the  houses  of 
foreigners,  where  they  had  been  made  by  servants. 
The  day's  work  brought  to  light  some  five  hundred 
rifles,  a  large  supply  of  ammunition,  and  a  hundred 
pounds  of  dynamite. 

These  were  loaded  on  carts  and  started  in 
convoy  for  the  citadel.  As  they  were  nearing  the 
British  consulate  they  were  halted  by  a  furious 
fire  from  behind  garden  walls.  Leaving  their 
charge  in  the  road  the  soldiers  took  cover  and 
responded,  while  the  British  consul,  and  his 
fellow-subjects  who  had  taken  refuge  with  him, 
looked  on  from  the  upper  windows.  The  fight 
was  abruptly  terminated  by  the  detonation  of  the 


"Van  and  the  Armenians "       307 

dynamite  in  one  of  the  carts,  which  created  a 
stampede  of  the  troops,  but  did  no  further  harm 
than  make  a  deep  excavation  in  the  roadway, 
which  has  not  yet  been  entirely  filled  up.  The 
Tashnakists  escaped  among  the  gardens,  but  still 
there  was  no  massacre. 

David,  the  traitor,  was  honoured  and  granted  a 
large  pension  which  it  was  well  known  he  would 
not  long  enjoy,  while  orders  came  from  the  Sultan 
that  a  hundred  lives  should  be  exacted  for  his  if 
he  were  killed.  For  six  weeks  he  swaggered  in  the 
bazaars  and  streets  and  then  was  shot  down  by  a 
mere  boy,  Tirlamazian  by  name.  That  act  pre- 
cipitated the  massacre  of  1908,  for  the  orders  were 
carried  out,  and  the  Armenians  in  the  bazaar 
in  the  walled  city  were  slain,  until  considerably 
more  than  a  hundred  innocent  men  had  perished 
for  the  wild  act  of  a  madcap  youth. 

For  some  time  a  state  of  siege  existed  in  the 
city,  the  Armenians  remaining  in  their  quarters, 
where  the  Turks  did  not  dare  attack  them  for 
fear  of  Tashnakist  bombs.  Finally  assurances 
were  received  from  Constantinople  that  no  further 
massacring  would  be  permitted;  an  armistice  was 
declared  and  the  Armenian  quarters  once  more 
searched  for  arms  and  the  revolutionary  leaders. 
These  were  finally  discovered  in  one  of  the  under- 
ground channels,  called  kerezes,  by  which  water  is 
conducted  into  the  city  from  the  mountains. 
Two  days  in  the  dark  tunnel  with  their  feet  in  ice- 
cold  water  had  not  improved  the  courage  of  these 


308  The  Gate  of  Asia 

men  who  had  sworn  to  perish  rather  than  surrender. 
So  it  happened  that  when  a  lone  soldier  found  them 
in  their  moist  retreat  and  threatened  to  smoke  them 
out  like  jackals,  they  all  yielded  to  him  and  were 
sent  up  one  after  the  other  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
a  Turkish  prison.  But  once  in  prison  in  Turkey 
a  man  is  fairly  safe,  for  executions  in  due  process 
of  law  are  most  rare.  Tirlamazian  himself  never 
paid  the  penalty  of  his  chauvinistic  folly,  but  was 
released  with  the  others  a  few  months  later  to  be 
welcomed  as  a  national  hero. 

However  much  we  may.  sympathize  with  the 
Armenians  we  can  scarcely  condone  the  barbarous 
methods  of  these  extremists.  Nevertheless  it  was 
by  such  methods  as  these  that  Greece,  Servia, 
Bulgaria,  Macedonia,  and  Thrace  have  been 
liberated,  and  it  is  impossible  to  condemn  those 
who  follow  such  conspicuously  successful  examples. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  such  acts  will  soon  be  un- 
necessary. The  terrible  maelstrom  into  which 
Europe  has  been  plunged  while  I  write  may  result 
in  radical  changes  for  Armenia.  Jealousy  between 
the  Czar  and  the  Kaiser  has  been  responsible  for 
many  of  the  throes  of  that  country.  The  one  has 
encouraged  disorder  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
interests,  the  other  has  discouraged  intervention 
in  the  vain  hope  that  Armenia  might  sometime 
fall  into  German  hands.  An  autonomous  Armenia 
is  practically  impossible  on  account  of  the  fact 
that  there  is  no  territory  in  which  the  Armenian 
people  form  a  majority  of  the  inhabitants.  That 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       309 

Russia  is  a  better  master  than  Turkey  there  can 
be  no  doubt.  Russia  is  gradually  becoming  en- 
lightened, while  the  Turk  seems  only  to  plunge 
more  deeply  into  barbarism.  Let  us  hope,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Armenian  people,  that  a  definite 
readjustment  of  their  affairs  may  be  accomplished 
by  the  treaty  that  shall  terminate  the  present 
European  War. 

Despite  the  terrible  condition  of  the  country 
.there  is  much  that  is  beautiful  and  picturesque 
in  the  environs  of  Van.  In  the  southernmost 
bight  of  the  lake  is  tragic  Akhtamar,  a  rocky  islet 
that  has  been  the  home  of  a  body  of  monks  since 
early  Christian  times.  Its  ancient  church  is  one 
of  the  most  impressive  in  Armenia.  The  high 
narrow  naves  that  face  the  cardinal  points, 
radiating  from  the  cupolaed  body  of  the  building, 
the  lofty  massive  construction,  the  narrow  windows, 
and  the  compact  Hellenic  cruciform  plan,  lend  it 
a  stately  dignity,  an  air  of  permanence  that  con- 
trasts with  our  more  slender  Gothic  churches. 
Its  massive  style  is  singularly  appropriate  to  this 
mountain  region ;  which  makes  it  clear  even  to  the 
most  casual  observer  that  though  the  inspiration 
came  from  Byzantium,  the  Vannic  builders  have 
incorporated  in  their  work  the  spirit  of  their 
mountainous  surroundings. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  the 
church  are  the  sculptures  in  low  relief  on  its  walls, 
representing  scenes  from  biblical  legend  and  early 
Armenian  ecclesiastical  history.  Adam  and  Eve 


310  The  Gate  of  Asia 

are  shown  in  the  garden  with  a  delightful  naivete1, 
that  is  an  interesting  commentary  on  the  simple 
faith  of  this  mountain  people,  a  faith  that  was 
shared  by  the  other  Eastern  churches,  and  was 
one  of  the  chief  causes  of  their  dissension  from  the 
argumentative  doctrinarian  West.  The  old  Ar- 
menian prelate  was  more  interested  in  speculat- 
ing as  to  what  language  was  spoken  in  heaven, 
than  in  arguing  the  abstruse  questions  that  the 
Western  theologians  were  never  tired  of  calling 
conferences  to  discuss.  Like  all  Armenian  icono- 
graphy these  Akhtamar  sculptures  are  quite 
without  any  artistic  quality,  but  their  antiquarian 
interest  is  great. 

Nearer  Van,  hidden  away  in  the  upper  slopes 
of  the  picturesque  mountain  of  the  same  name,  is 
the  monastery  of  Varag.  It  has  been  often  vio- 
lated and  sacked,  being  in  a  poor  position  for 
defence.  The  seven  churches  it  once  boasted  are 
all  in  ruins  save  two,  one  of  which  is  the  church 
used  today  by  the  monks  and  their  orphan  charges. 
When  we  visited  the  place  the  monastery  was 
deserted,  its  occupants  being  at  work  among  the 
fields  and  groves.  But  word  of  our  coming  was 
soon  carried  to  the  Bishop,  who  dropped  the  skirt 
of  his  cassock,  left  his  plough,  and  welcomed  us. 
With  a  key  a  foot  long  he  opened  the  door  of  the 
church  and  admitted  us  into  the  narrow,  but  lofty, 
vaulted  nave.  When  our  eyes  became  used  to  the 
chill  darkness  we  made  out,  painted  upon  the 
columns  on  either  side,  the  almost  obliterated  and 


An  Ornamented  Brick  Doorway  in  an  Old  Turkish  Mosque  at  Van 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       311 

most  cadaverous  faces  of  Moses  and  King  Tiri- 
dates,  the  first  patron  of  Christianity  in  this 
region.  The  figures  to  which  they  belonged  were 
above  our  heads  and  so  slightly  were  they  fore- 
shortened that  they  seemed  like  manikins  dan- 
gling from  the  roof.  Passing  between  similarly 
decorated  square  columns  we  came  to  the  sanc- 
tuary, where  the  altar,  covered  with  soiled  linen, 
stood  beneath  a  higher,  narrower  vault  than  that 
of  the  nave.  Part  of  it,  concealed  by  a  curtain,  was 
undecorated  and  bare,  but  for  a  coat  of  badly 
chipped  whitewash.  It  was  the  oldest  part  of  the 
church,  dating  according  to  our  guide  from  the 
sixth  century.  The  other  parts  were  built  at 
various  later  periods,  so  that  the  building  is  a  sort 
of  patchwork.  It  is  ill  cared  for  too  and  still 
shows  the  effects  of  fires  kindled  in  it  by  Moslem 
desecrators. 

The  other  unruined  church  is  now  the  library, 
and  contains  several  old  illuminated  texts  in 
Armenian,  chiefly  copies  of  the  Scriptures  and 
commentaries  thereon,  with  one  or  two  works  on 
Armenian  history.  The  latter  are  picturesque  in 
the  extreme,  but  are  more  valuable  to  the  student 
of  folk-lore  than  to  one  interested  in  facts.  The 
illuminations  are,  like  the  sculptures  of  Akhtamar 
and  the  wall  paintings,  curiously  primitive.  They 
are  entirely  wanting  in  perspective,  but  faithful 
in  the  portrayal  of  all  essential  details,  such  as  the 
blood  of  martyrs  and  the  tortures  of  the  damned. 

The  buildings  occupied  as  living  quarters  have 


312  The  Gate  of  Asia 

all  been  recently  built  to  replace  those  that  were 
burned.  We  sat  down  with  two  of  the  priests  in  a 
room  whose  only  ornament  was  a  beautiful  por- 
trait of  a  former  Bishop  of  Varag,  who  later 
became  the  Catholicos,  the  head  of  the  Gregorian 
Armenian  church.  It  was  done  by  a  well-known 
Russian  artist,  and  shows  the  strong,  handsome, 
bearded  face  of  one  of  the  strongest  men  the 
Armenian  people  have  produced  in  recent  years. 
We  talked  with  his  successor  of  his  work,  over  our 
cups  of  Turkish  coffee,  and  then  departed  for  our 
ride  back  to  the  city. 

A  few  miles  to  the  east  of  Lake  Van  lies  the 
smaller  Lake  Archag,  its  surface  five  hundred  feet 
higher,  than  its  large  neighbour.  It  is  gloriously 
situated  among  lofty  peaks  and  is  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  of  mountain  lakes.  It  is  famous  for  its 
waterfowl,  ducks  and  geese,  and  it  was  chiefly  in 
pursuit  of  these  that  we  visited  it,  as  the  guests 
of  Captain  Seel  and  M.  Ulferieff.  Our  camp  was 
situated  in  the  lee  of  a  rocky  ridge,  behind  which 
was  a  swamp,  ever  alive  with  coot,  where  the 
geese  came  in  the  morning  and  evening  to  feed. 
The  country  around  was  wild  and  desolate,  but  a 
few  villages  were  to  be  seen  from  a  neighbouring 
height.  When  we  inquired  into  their  nationality 
we  learned  that  one  was  Turkoman,  another  Kurd, 
another  Nestorian,  and  the  last  Armenian.  The 
young  Nestorians  used  to  follow  us  on  our  shooting 
expeditions;  the  Armenian  village  I  visited  on 
foot,  finding  it  squalid  and  ruinous,  while  their 


"Van  and  the  Armenians"       313 

Kurdish  neighbours  were  prosperous  indeed, 
having  large  flocks  of  sheep  in  the  pastures  that 
were  then  free  of  snow;  of  the  Turkomans  we  saw 
but  one  or  two,  for  they  mix  with  neither  Kurd 
nor  Christian. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TO  PERSIA   THROUGH   THE   COUNTRY  OF  THE 
SHEKAK  KURDS 

THE  roads  from  Van  to  the  Persian  frontier 
and  on  to  Lake  Urmi  are  never  easy,  and 
quite  impassable  in  winter.  We  found  it  very 
difficult  to  leave  before  the  beginning  of  May,  but 
a  caravan  having  arrived  on  the  twenty-sixth 
of  April,  we  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  muleteer  to 
take  us  on  our  way  two  days  later.  He  was  a 
Mukri  Kurd,  AH  Chaush  by  name,  who  wore  the 
full  dress  of  his  tribe,  baggy  blue  trousers  gathered 
in  at  the  ankle,  a  short  tunic  of  the  same  material, 
and  a  large  turban,  wound  around  a  pointed  cap, 
so  that  the  fringes  of  the  striped  scarves  that 
composed  it  hung  down  over  the  ears.  He  carried 
a  carbine  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  sash,  in  which 
was  thrust  a  large  dagger,  was  almost  concealed 
by  a  belt  full  of  cartridges,  eked  out  by  a  bandolier 
over  each  shoulder.  He  was  a  dandy  indeed,  in 
marked  contrast  to  our  sackcloth- clad  katarjis 
of  the  previous  stages.  His  mount  was  a  well- 
built  stocky  mountain  pony,  while  those  he 
furnished  us,  though  decidedly  inferior,  were 


The  Shekak  Kurds  315 

quite  passable.  AH  Chaush  himself  did  not  assist 
in  the  packing,  nor  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
pack-horses,  which  were  driven  by  two  menials, 
Kurds  of  a  picturesque  enough  appearance,  but 
more  like  our  earlier  acquaintances.  Their  master 
rode  with  us  and  the  zaptiehs,  but  was  taciturn 
and  never  to  be  seen  at  meal-time  or  at  night. 

We  were  delighted  to  have  the  company  of 
Captain  Seel  for  the  first  half  of  our  journey.  We 
had  decided  to  take  the  road  that  leads  south-east 
over  the  Chukh  Dagh  pass  to  Bashkala,  the  most 
remote  centre  of  Turkish  government  in  the  whole 
Empire.  It  is  the  seat  of  a  Mutesarif,  an  official 
next  in  rank  to  a  Vali  and  superior  to  a  Kaima- 
kam.  That  official  was  an  acquaintance  of  Cap- 
tain Seel's  and  it  was  partly  to  see  the  country  and 
partly  to  see  him  that  the  Captain  accompanied 
us.  Two  zaptiehs  and  the  consular  kavass  com- 
pleted our  party,  the  latter  adding  no  little  to  our 
"face,"  because  of  his  neat  uniform,  his  curved 
scimitar,  and  the  lion  and  unicorn  that  adorned 
his  fez.  He  bore  the  consul's  handsome  English 
sporting  rifle  also,  wearing  the  long  pencil-like 
cartridges  in  his  belt,  to  the  envy  of  every  Kurd 
we  met. 

Dr.  Ussher  sped  us  on  our  way  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  country,  which  the  missionaries 
have  almost  universally  adopted.  When  we  had 
bidden  him  farewell  we  ascended  a  steep  snowy 
ridge  by  the  side  of  beautiful  Mt.  Varag,  and 
descended  to  the  southward  into  the  broad  fertile 


316  The  Gate  of  Asia 

valley-plain  of  Havatsor,  watered  by  the  clear, 
never-failing  Khoshab  Su.  Though  walled  by 
precipitous  mountains  it  is  broad  and  flat,  and 
bears  every  evidence  of  the  greatest  richness. 
But  it  is  almost  entirely  uninhabited,  and  contains 
little  but  the  blackened  ruins  of  villages  and 
broken  banks  of  irrigating  channels,  terrible 
reminders  of  Turkish  oppression.  The  awful 
wastefulness  of  the  Hamidian  policy  is  here 
exemplified,  for  this  plain  was  once  an  important 
source  of  revenue  to  the  government,  and  exported 
large  quantities  of  grain  through  Van.  Now 
nothing  stirs  in  the  valley  but  the  chill  mountain 
wind  that  is  likened,  in  the  picturesque  Eastern 
idiom,  to  the  breath  of  the  curse  of  the  dispossessed 
upon  their  oppressors. 

We  spent  the  night  in  a  village  that  has  been 
rebuilt  by  returned  refugees,  the  village  of  Nor- 
keui,  to  which  we  were  admitted  only  after  an 
armed  reconnaissance  by  the  inhabitants,  who 
were  then  driving  home  their  sheep,  and  feared  we 
might  have  designs  on  them.  But  when  they 
discovered  we  were  foreigners  they  welcomed  us 
gladly  and  gave  us  a  comfortable  place  to  sleep, 
a  large  room  furnished  with  divans,  so  that  it  was 
not  necessary  to  sleep  on  the  floor. 

As  we  ascended  the  valley  the  next  day  it  grew 
narrower  and  rockier.  We  crossed  many  streams 
giving  vistas  of  lofty  mountains  at  first,  but  later 
the  precipitous  walls  of  the  valley  shut  out  all 
view  of  the  higher  peaks.  Toward  lunch  time  we 


The  Shekak  Kurds  317 

came  in  sight  of  a  work  that  might  more  ap- 
propriately have  crowned  a  Rhenish  rock  or 
commanded  some  Savoyard  valley.  It  was  a 
splendidly  situated  castle,  its  massive  keep  rising 
high  above  the  river,  while  a  welter  of  lesser 
towers  showed  it  was  once  a  place  of  no  little  im- 
portance, and  must  have  sheltered  a  formidable 
garrison.  Skilfully  constructed  curtain  walls, 
elaborately  protected  by  bastions,  enclosed  a  large 
area  beside  it,  in  which  hundreds  of  men  with 
flocks  and  herds  could  find  sanctuary. 

Local  tradition  says  that  this  castle  of  Khoshab 
was  built  by  an  Italian,  and  the  general  plan  bears 
out  the  belief.  But  much  of  the  work  is  Seljuk 
Turkish  and  doubtless  belongs  to  the  period  of  that 
Empire,  while  other  parts  may  be  traced  to  Arme- 
nian and  Kurd.  The  original  fort  on  this  site  was 
certainly  Urartian,  for  foundations  of  megalithic 
ashlar  are  still  to  be  seen,  like  those  in  Van  castle. 
There  is  a  rock-hewn  chamber,  too,  of  great  size, 
called  today  a  dungeon  but  more  likely  a  cistern, 
which  is  almost  certainly  to  be  traced  to  that 
people.  The  building  is  now  deserted,  but  was  the 
stronghold  of  a  Kurdish  chief  not  more  than  forty 
years  ago.  He  stood  several  sieges  by  the  Turkish 
troops  and  finally  succumbed  to  the  ravages  of  age. 
Meanwhile  the  Hukumet  had  succeeded  in  killing 
his  family  by  treachery.  So,  there  being  no  one  to 
follow  him,  his  tribe  broke  up  and  the  troops 
entered  his  fortress  of  Khoshab  Kala.  It  was  soon 
dismantled  and  left  half  in  ruins,  which  the  ravages 


318  The  Gate  of  Asia 

of  sun  and  frost  have  largely  increased  during  the 
forty  years  that  have  elapsed. 

We  rode  into  the  town  and  crossed  the  river  by 
a  beautiful  bridge  that  spans  it  under  the  very 
shadow  of  the  beetling  keep-crowned  cliff.  There 
a  zaptieh  met  us  and  conducted  us  to  the  house  of 
the  Kaimakam,  who  received  us  with  effusive 
cordiality.  He  was  a  typical  Young  Turk  official, 
newly  arrived  from  Constantinople,  hating  his 
isolation  in  this  distant  station  far  from  the  flesh- 
pots  and  gaieties  of  the  capital,  provided  with  a 
thin  veneer  of  Western  civilization  that  served 
rather  to  accentuate  his  Orientalism  than  to  conceal 
it,  lazy,  vicious,  and  bilious.  He  insisted  on  our 
lunching  with  him,  on  fried  eggs,  rice,  and  stewed 
chicken.  He  was  supplied  with  a  table  and  a 
couple  of  chairs,  but  no  table  gear,  the  dishes  being 
served  in  the  vessels  in  which  they  were  cooked, 
and  eaten  with  pieces  torn  from  flaps  of  native 
bread. 

Lunch  over  we  set  out  to  examine  the  castle, 
accompanied  by  our  host  and  his  fat,  taciturn 
officer  of  zaptiehs.  We  strolled  up  the  steep  slope 
to  the  gate,  halting  frequently  to  breath  the  gasp- 
ing, panting  Turks,  unaccustomed  to  exercise  of 
any  sort.  The  gate  tower  which  we  thus  ap- 
proached was  quite  different  from  the  other  parts 
of  the  castle,  being  round  instead  of  square,  and 
built  of  a  red  schistose  rock,  while  they  are  of 
green.  The  entrance,  though  small,  is  elaborately 
decorated  by  a  huge  false  doorway  covered  by  a 


The  Shekak  Kurds  319 

pointed  arch  on  pilasters.  In  its  lower  section  is  a 
deep  niche,  under  which  is  a  square  opening, 
rimmed  with  heavy  masonry,  the  real  door.  Above 
the  niche,  and  quite  as  large,  is  an  elaborate 
ornament  in  black,  red,  and  white  stones,  consist- 
ing of  an  inscribed  tablet,  surmounted  by  a  design 
containing  three  carved  limestone  reliefs,  a  pen- 
dant-shaped figure  flanked  by  rampant  lions.  The 
effect  of  the  whole  is  very  striking  and  recalls 
several  doorways  in  Mosul  and  the  surroundings, 
as  well  as  the  Bab-et-Tilism  at  Bagdad. 

Entering  the  tower  we  scrambled  through  a 
series  of  passages,  guard-rooms,  and  low  portals, 
constantly  ascending  until  we  came  out  on  one  of 
the  lower  terraces,  with  a  splendid  view  of  the 
valley.  Here  was  a  broken-in  roof  through  which 
we  looked  into  the  great  rock-hewn  "dungeon," 
sufficiently  beehive  shaped  to  recall  the  Mycenaean 
tombs.  It  is  undoubtedly  Urartian  for  neither 
Turk  nor  Kurd  could  have  had  the  patience  to 
hew  it  from  the  living  rock.  Other  chambers  and 
passages  we  could  see  evidences  of,  but  had  not 
time  to  explore.  There  are  so  many  doorways 
blocked  by  ruins,  and  nassages  with  partly  fallen 
roofs,  that  great  labour  would  be  necessary  to 
thoroughly  investigate  this  great  warren  of  a 
castle. 

By  clambering  through  cracks  and  broken 
places  in  the  dilapidated  walls,  and  walking  along 
their  shelving  tops,  we  gained  entrance  to  the 
keep  and  ascended  it  to  a  point  near  the  summit  of 


320  The  Gate  of  Asia 

its  gutted  shell.  The  view  from  one  of  the  lofty 
casements  was  superb. 

Directly  below,  so  far  it  made  us  dizzy  to  look, 
was  the  village,  crowded  mainly  between  the  rock 
and  the  river.  We  could  barely  descry  the  figures 
of  men  and  animals  at  our  very  feet,  four  hundred 
feet  below  at  least.  Up  and  down  stream  the 
valley  was  to  be  plainly  seen  and  in  front  the  view 
was  cut  off  by  the  massive  Bashit  Dagh,  one  of  the 
greatest  ziarets,  or  high  places,  in  ancient  Urartu, 
that  rises  six  thousand  feet  above  the  valley. 
Those  who  have  reached  the  summit  say  that  it  is 
crowned  by  one  of  the  finest  ruins  of  an  Eastern 
place  of  sacrifice  that  remain  to  us  today,  a  Semitic 
temple  such  as  was  built  by  Solomon,  and  such  as 
was  enlarged  upon  in  Roman  times  in  Baalbek. 
We  know  that  this  form  of  worship  spread  to 
Urartu  from  the  excavations  on  the  high  place  of 
Van,  now  called  Topra  Kala. 

Leaving  Khoshab  despite  the  pressing  invitation 
of  the  Kaimakam  to  be  his  guests  over  night,  we 
rode  on  to  the  Nestorian  village  of  Shushmalerg, 
from  which  we  proposed  to  tackle  the  Chukh 
Dagh  pass  the  following  day.  On  the  road  thither 
we  met  an  aged  man,  elaborately  clothed  in  the 
full  robes  affected  by  Persian  mollahs,  and  wearing 
the  green  turban  that  proclaimed  him  a  Seyyid, 
a  descendant  of  the  Prophet.  He  eyed  us  with 
the  greatest  hostility  and  turned  away  when  we 
saluted  him.  He  was  plainly  a  grouchy  old  fanatic, 
that  looked  upon  Christians  as  unclean  and  be- 


k.. 


The  Shekak  Kurds  321 

neath  his  notice.  The  kavass  was  some  distance 
behind  us,  and  we  noticed  that  he  dismounted 
before  the  holy  man,  and  passed  him  on  foot, 
salaaming  profoundly. 

This  act  of  dismounting  is  the  greatest  sign  of 
respect  that  a  native  of  this  country  can  show 
another,  and  is  rarely  accorded  today  to  any  but 
royalty  or  holy  men.  But  there  was  a  time  when 
we  ourselves  would  have  been  compelled  to  dis- 
mount before  this  Seyyid  and  even  today  an 
Armenian  would  risk  his  life  by  failing  to  do  so. 
During  some  of  the  periods  of  persecution  of  the 
Christians,  under  the  Kalifate  and  under  Mongol 
rule,  no  Christian  was  allowed  to  ride  in  a  Moslem 
city  at  all,  and  outside  he  was  compelled  to  dis- 
mount immediately  a  follower  of  the  Prophet  came 
in  sight. 

The  village  in  which  we  stopped  that  night  was 
picturesquely  situated  on  a  tumulus,  that  witnesses 
the  existence  of  an  ancient  town  on  the  same  site. 
There  were  several  heads  of  mountain  sheep  on  a 
dunghill  and  we  learned  that  the  villagers  fre- 
quently brought  these  animals  down.  The  room 
in  which  we  slept  had  several  skins  on  the  floor, 
but  they  were  badly  cured  and  moth-eaten.  The 
river  bottom  was  marshy  and  full  of  ducks  against 
which  Edwin  Warfield  made  a  successful  sally, 
while  the  Captain  and  I  compared  notes  on  the 
difficult  local  topography.  We  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  supping  on  our  companion's  bag,  which 
included  a  beautiful  chestnut  and  red  duck,  called 


322  The  Gate  of  Asia 

in  India  the  Brahmini,  that  closely  resembles  our 
American  sheldrake. 

The  next  morning  we  entered  the  maze  of 
rounded  ridges  that  buttress  the  lofty  Chukh 
Dagh  range,  that  still  lay  between  us  and  Bash- 
kala.  We  soon  got  into  deep  snow  at  an  elevation 
of  eight  thousand  feet,  which  had  been  packed  by 
foot  passengers  along  the  line  of  a  narrow  and  very 
steep  path.  The  regular  caravan  trail,  winding 
up  the  side  of  one  of  the  transverse  ridges,  was 
covered  to  a  depth  of  six  or  eight  feet,  so  up  the 
ill-marked  footpath  we  struggled.  As  long  as 
horse  or  man  remained  on  it,  he  was  safe,  but  let 
him  step  a  little  to  one  side  and  down  he  would 
drop  into  deep  feathery  snow.  Edwin  Warfield 
and  I  had  trouble  enough  to  keep  our  nags  from 
falling  off,  but  Captain  Seel's  mount  was  a  young 
and  mettlesome  Arab  that  had  never  seen  snow 
before.  He  was  constantly  going  down,  and  once 
down  he  would  make  such  heroic  efforts  to  regain 
the  solid  causeway  that  he  would  go  clear  over  on 
the  other  side.  The  first  steep  ascent  brought  us  to 
a  ridge  nine  thousand  feet  in  altitude,  a  strangely 
desolate  spot  amid  jagged  peaks  and  snow-filled 
valleys.  The  former  generally  reach  an  altitude 
of  eleven  to  twelve  thousand  feet,  but  they  look 
higher  because  they  are  crowded  together  and 
separated  by  deep  gorges. 

The  masses  of  snow  that  accumulate  from  the 
constant  avalanches  would  be  incomprehensible, 
had  we  not  had  experience  in  our  ascent  that 


The  Strikingly  Ornamented  Gate  of  Khoshab  Castle 


The  Shekak  Kurds  323 

showed  to  what  a  depth  the  snow  had  fallen. 
Melting  in  the  valley  bottoms  had  gone  on  apace, 
and  in  the  high  ravines  we  found  large  tunnels 
made  by  streams  under  the  snow.  We  were  told  a 
story  of  one  of  these  that  is  worth  repeating.  A 
party  of  Armenians  fleeing  from  the  Kurds  that 
had  burned  their  village  and  slain  most  of  their 
men  folk,  finding  their  way  blocked  by  avalanches, 
entered  a  cave-in  in  one  of  the  tunnels,  preferring 
death  in  such  a  place  to  Kurdish  torture.  No 
sooner  had  they  disappeared  from  their  pursuers 
than  an  avalanche  blocked  the  opening,  and  the 
Kurds  believed  them  killed.  But  they  found  their 
way  through  the  tunnel  to  a  point  far  down  the 
valley,  whence  they  escaped  unseen. 

It  was  a  narrow  defile  that  we  entered  at  the 
top  of  the  Chukh  Dagh,  the  pass  proper.  The 
melting  snow  roof  of  the  tunnel  had  fallen  in  many 
places,  and  we  had  to  cling  to  the  wall  to  avoid 
tumbling  into  the  crevasses  thus  made.  It  was 
tiring  but  not  very  difficult  and  we  emerged  at 
the  lower  end,  passing  through  a  narrow  rocky 
gateway,  from  which  we  could  look  across  the 
broad  valley  of  the  Zab  toward  the  Persian  moun- 
tains. We  met  several  foot  passengers  on  the  way, 
and  a  family  of  peasants  with  a  couple  of  donkeys. 
The  former  were  conscripts  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Bashkala,  rounded  up  by  zaptiehs  to  be 
mustered  in  at  Van,  and  probably  die  in  the  epi- 
demic of  typhus  that  decimated  the  inhabitants 
of  the  dirty  barracks  a  few  months  later. 


324  The  Gate  of  Asia 

We  found  the  far  side  of  the  pass  less  snowy 
than  the  ascent  and  made  our  way  over  rocks  and 
across  swollen  torrents  down  into  the  valley  of  the 
Great  Zab,  the  same  river  we  had  crossed  amid 
far  different  surroundings  on  our  way  to  Mosul. 
We  could  see  it  in  the  distance,  a  shallow  blue 
stream  of  snow  water,  meandering  in  the  great 
synclinal  valley,  receiving  innumerable  smaller 
streams  that  enter  it  at  right  angles,  supplied  by 
the  melting  snows  of  the  border  ranges.  As  it  flows 
southward  it  rapidly  grows,  until  it  begins  to  cut 
deeply  into  its  bed,  forming  the  splendid  gorges  of 
Tyari,  the  home  of  the  Nestorians,  and  running 
out  through  the  country  of  the  southern  Kurds  to 
the  vast  plain  of  Arbela. 

The  valley  is  desolate  and  uninhabited;  no 
villages  were  at  any  time  visible  from  our  road, 
and  only  once  did  we  encounter  one,  hidden  away 
in  a  protected  hollow.  It  is  not  as  rich  a  place  as 
the  valleys  of  Armenia  because  of  its  youth ;  there 
are  not  yet  any  accumulations  of  silt  and  the 
bottom-land  is  rolling  and  uneven.  Nevertheless 
it  is  worthy  of  better  things  than  a  great  free 
pasture-land  for  nomad  Kurds,  and  we  saw  far 
worse  lands  in  a  state  of  cultivation  on  the  other 
side  of  the  frontier,  where  the  blighting  effect  of 
Turkish  rule  has  not  been  felt. 

Through  this  abandoned  land  of  bare  ridges  and 
boulders  we  made  our  way  to  Bashkala,  which  we 
reached  after  ten  hard  hours  in  the  saddle.  We 
approached  it  by  a  made  road  which  is  like  many 


The  Shekak  Kurds  325 

of  its  fellows  in  all  parts  of  the  Empire.  It  begins 
nowhere  and  ends  near  the  top  of  the  pass  in  a 
jumble  of  rocks  that  make  the  last  few  hundred 
yards  quite  useless.  Over  and  over  the  Ottoman 
starts  out  well,  on  a  sufficiently  high  aim,  but  the 
chances  are  that  he  will  fall  down  when  he  comes 
to  difficulties.  Whether  he  tries  to  build  a  bridge 
or  a  road,  carry  out  a  political  reform,  or  organize 
an  army  or  navy,  his  end  is  always  the  same:  a 
promising  spurt  terminates  in  lack  of  enthusiasm, 
any  old  makeshift  is  adopted,  and  all  concerned 
unite  in  a  shameful  scramble  to  misappropriate  the 
funds. 

Bashkala  is  typical  of  the  towns  of  Kurdistan, 
a  jumble  of  flat-roofed  stone  huts  straggling  up  a 
hillside,  surrounded  by  tall  poplars,  and  intersected 
by  an  occasional  narrow  muddy  ravine-like  street. 
The  house  of  the  Mutesarif  was  mud-plastered, 
and  furnished  d,  la  Turka.  The  lower  floor  was 
chill  and  dismal,  used  only  by  servants.  Upstairs 
we  entered  a  small  room  used  as  a  reception  room 
lighted  by  a  single  small  window,  and  furnished 
with  a  divan  and  a  chair.  Here  we  made  the 
acquaintance  of  our  host,  Djevket  Tahir  Bey,  a 
pleasant,  strong-faced  man,  with  Oriental  manners, 
but  of  pure  Albanian  blood.  He  is  absolutely 
indispensable  to  Turkish  government  on  this  part 
of  the  frontier,  and  has  almost  autocratic  power,  so 
far  as  his  varying  force  of  zaptiehs  and  troops  can 
maintain  it.  He  generally  keeps  the  Kurds  in  a 
friendly  state  by  diplomacy,  but  recently  the  with- 


326  The  Gate  of  Asia 

drawal  of  troops,  consequent  upon  the  Balkan 
trouble,  has  resulted  in  a  coolness  between  him  and 
a  neighbouring  chief.  He  told  us  that  he  expected 
a  force  from  Van  in  a  few  days  and  if  we  would 
remain  as  his  guests  for  a  week,  he  would  promise 
to  show  us  a  battle. 

He  was  much  interested  in  modern  methods, 
though  a  life  spent  in  the  eastern  part  of  Asiatic 
Turkey  does  not  develop  any  general  fund  of 
information  regarding  their  applications.  Among 
his  aspirations  was  the  installation  in  his  capital  of 
a  telephone  system.  He  had  imported  from  Russia 
a  set  of  six  instruments,  including  an  exchange; 
but  when  they  had  arrived  he  had  found  it  quite 
beyond  him,  or  his  telegraph  clerk,  to  put  them 
together.  The  instruments  had  lain  idle  for 
months  when  we  arrived,  but  they  had  not  been 
forgotten,  and  we  were  begged  to  help  with  our 
scientific  experience  in  the  matter  of  fitting  to- 
gether the  bewildering  maze  of  receivers,  trans- 
mitters, coils,  lengths  of  wire,  batteries,  chemicals, 
other  paraphernalia. 

Now  a  Russian  telephone  instrument  is  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  made,  two  or  three  times  as  large 
as  one  of  our  clumsiest  wall  contrivances,  and 
studded  with  shiny  German  silver  knobs  and 
screws  without  rhyme  or  reason.  Patiently  we 
struggled  to  trace  out  the  intricate  wiring,  elimi- 
nate the  hardware  that  appeared  for  decoration 
only,  and  connect  the  batteries  so  that  the  working 
parts  would  do  business.  Once  the  puzzle  was 


The  Shekak  Kurds  327 

unravelled  the  delighted  Mutesarif  was  introduced 
to  one  of  the  instruments,  and  listened  to  a  long 
oration  from  Captain  Seel  in  another  room.  Rais- 
ing his  voice  to  its  highest  pitch  he  roared  a  fierce 
reply  that  made  the  Captain  drop  the  receiver  and 
clap  his  hand  to  his  outraged  ear. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  had  strung  a  wire  to 
the  police  post,  and  allowed  the  stout  zaptieh 
officer  to  speak  with  his  lieutenant  there.  The 
expression  on  his  face  was  one  of  the  utmost 
surprise,  when  he  heard  the  familiar  voice,  and  he 
could  say  nothing  for  some  time  but, — "Allah! 
Allah!  Allah!"  Once  they  had  gotten  over  their 
surprise,  and  learned  not  to  shout  at  the  instru- 
ment, our  friends  were  as  tickled  as  children  with  a 
new  toy.  Djevket  Bey  was  constantly  rushing  to 
call  the  police  post  on  matters  of  instant  moment. 
The  conversation  would  be  something  like  this: 
"Is  this  Reshid  Bimbashi?  Do  you  hear  me? 
Where  are  you?  I  can  hear  you!  I  will  talk  with 
you  again!" 

So  pleased  was  he  with  his  new  plaything  that 
nothing  would  suit  him  but  a  wireless  telegraph. 
Sitting  at  dinner  that  evening  he  did  nothing  but 
talk  of  how  he  would  confound  the  Kurds  with  it. 

Two  very  pleasant  days  we  spent  in  this  moun- 
tain town  and  then  we  set  out  to  cross  the  valley  to 
the  Persian  frontier.  We  were  armed  with  letters 
to  the  Mudir  of  Deir,  the  last  frontier  official,  and 
to  a  Kurdish  Agha  who  watches  over  the  marches. 
To  this  gentleman  we  contemplated  presenting 


328  The  Gate  of  Asia 

ourselves,  and  trusted  to  his  friendship  to  see  us 
safely  through  the  frontier  region,  into  Persian 
territory.  We  bade  adieu  to  the  Mutesarif  and 
to  Captain  Seel,  and  set  off  to  cross  the  Zab  once 
more. 

The  country  was  absolutely  desolate  until  we 
came  to  the  squalid  mountain  village  of  Deir,  built 
on  a  hill  above  the  river.  The  Mudir  received 
us  jovially  and  sought  to  detain  us,  but  we  could 
spare  time  only  to  glance  at  the  splendid  old 
monastery  of  St.  Bartholomew,  that  gives  the 
town  its  name.  It  is  distinguished  by  a  large  and 
imposing  church  in  the  finest  Armenian  style. 
But  the  great  doorway  was  walled  up,  and  no 
hospitable  monk  was  there  to  receive  us.  The 
Turk  is  not  a  fool  to  have  a  potentially  hostile 
body  on  his  very  frontier. 

The  scenery  was  very  fine  as  we  crossed  the 
shallow  river  and  ascended  into  the  eight  thousand 
foot  pass  that  marks  the  watershed  between  the 
Tigris  and  Lake  Urmi.  It  grew  wilder  and  more 
desolate  as  we  ascended  until  we  reached  a  lofty 
valley,  with  snow-peaks  on  either  side.  Large 
flocks  of  sheep  were  being  driven  to  a  marshy  hol- 
low. All  was  still  and  dark,  the  clouds  settled  in 
black  mist  on  the  hilltops,  and  we  pressed  by  the 
sheep  into  the  broad,  easily  defended  cirque  where 
lay  the  village  of  Haidar  Agha,  "friend  of  the 
Turks,"  but  caring  little  for  any  government.  The 
people  were  Shekak  Kurds,  a  wild  lot,  who  have 
lived  on  the  frontier  for  generations.  They  have 


The  Shekak  Kurds  329 

all  the  vices  of  professional  bandits,  but  all  the 
virtues  as  well.  They  are  proud,  hospitable, 
generous  to  their  guests,  independent,  and  merry. 
Those  we  saw  were  mostly  slender,  oval  faced, 
rather  dark  in  complexion,  with  small  hands  and 
feet.  Their  chiefs  are  always  aristocratic  looking, 
and  show  their  breeding  in  manner  and  dress, 
a  quality  that  doubtless  comes  from  associating 
with  Persians. 

Haidar  Agha's  house,  a  plain,  mud-plastered 
stone  building,  long  and  narrow,  stood  a  little  to 
one  side  of  the  mean  stone  hovels  of  the  villagers. 
There  we  were  received  by  Haidar  himself.  Enter- 
ing a  small  anteroom,  where  stood  braziers  and 
other  paraphernalia  of  the  kitchen,  we  were 
ushered  into  a  room  about  thirty  feet  long  and 
half  as  wide,  mud- walled  and  mud-floored,  with  a 
very  few  small  dingy  windows  high  in  the  wall. 
At  the  upper  end  were  some  benches,  and  the 
floor  in  front  was  covered  with  felt  rugs  ornamented 
with  geometric  designs  in  brown  and  black,  sheep 
of  those  colours  being  as  common  as  white  in  the 
Kurdish  flocks. 

Haidar  Agha  was  decidedly  a  gentleman. 
About  five  feet  ten,  tall  for  a  Kurd,  he  stooped 
slightly  from  age.  His  rugged  face  was  deeply 
lined  and  ornamented  with  a  huge  dark  brown 
moustache.  His  two  sons,  aged  about  fourteen  and 
eighteen,  resembled  him  strikingly,  having  the 
same  long,  narrow  face  and  chin,  the  same  quick 
eye  and  air  of  alertness.  They  were  quite  differ- 


33°  The  Gate  of  Asia 

ently  dressed  from  any  tribe  we  had  seen  before. 
Their  costume  was  of  a  dark  green  cloth  resembling 
heavy  serge;  a  coat  with  brass  buttons,  fitting 
closely  to  the  waist  and  provided  with  a  kilted 
skirt  reaching  to  the  knees,  and  a  pair  of  close- 
fitting  trousers,  were  topped  by  a  tall  hat  of  soft 
felt,  wound  round  and  round  with  black  and  grey 
silk  scarves;  the  boys  wore  Russian  riding  boots, 
but  the  father  was  content  with  shoes,  also  of 
Muscovite  manufacture. 

The  rest  of  the  household  consisted  of  servants 
dressed  in  the  same  style  as  their  masters  but  more 
coarsely.  They  were  all  armed  and  carried  their 
belts  and  bandoliers  in  the  house,  though  their 
masters  threw  aside  the  heavy  things  on  coming  in. 
Haidar  Agha  himself  did  not  wear  any  at  all,  but 
kept  his  rifle  at  hand  in  a  corner.  The  servants 
were  respectful,  remaining  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
room  except  when  summoned,  but  by  no  means 
obsequious.  They  entered  into  the  conversation 
at  times  and  were  occasionally  referred  to. 

We  sat  in  conversation  with  the  chief,  and  a 
Turkish  officer,  for  some  time,  but  with  little  result, 
for  we  had  to  talk  through  two  interpreters.  The 
Turk  represented  the  claim  of  his  government  to 
suzerainty  over  this  country,  but  his  position 
seemed  to  be  that  of  a  tolerated  guest,  rather  than 
of  an  overlord.  The  friendship  of  the  Kurds 
seemed  to  be  rather  with  -Russia  than  with  Turkey, 
as  is  natural,  for  the  Russians  spare  no  pains  to 
gain  their  friendship,  while  the  hand  of  Abdul- 


The  Shekak  Kurds  331 

Hamid  was  lately  heavy  on  their  necks.  Most  of 
their  fellow-Shekaklis  are  in  Persian  territory  and, 
though  subject  to  no  man,  are  friendly  with  the 
Czar's  representatives.  Among  other  evidences 
of  Muscovite  aggression  we  noted  that  our  hosts 
were  provided  with  Russian  army  rifles  and  am- 
munition. This  is  not  greatly  in  their  favour  for 
those  arms  are  clumsy,  ugly,  and  ill-balanced, 
inferior  to  the  cast-off  German  military  Mausers 
with  which  most  of  the  Turkish  troops,  and  by  far 
the  majority  of  the  Hakkiari  Kurds,  are  armed. 
Nevertheless  it  is  doubtless  better  to  receive  a 
Russian  rifle  as  a  gift  than  to  pay  a  very  large 
price  to  a  Turkish  official  for  a  Mauser. 

The  domestic  arrangements  of  our  hosts,  re- 
vealed after  we  had  dined  with  Haidar  Agha — 
the  sons  waited  until  their  elders  w^re  finished — 
and  were  ready  to  retire,  throws  no  little  light  on 
the  advanced  state  of  civilization  of  these  frontier 
tribes.  Instead  of  rolling  up  in  a  blanket  or  quilt, 
as  was  customary  among  the  Hakkiari  among 
whom  we  stopped,  Haidar  Agha  and  his  sons  had 
elaborate  beds  prepared  for  them  by  the  serving 
men.  They  were  made  of  several  felts,  laid  one 
upon  the  other,  a  number  of  quilts  on  them,  and  a 
quilt  and  heavy  military  blanket  for  cover.  Each 
man  had  a  servant  to  assist  him  in  disrobing,  who 
laid  out  his  master's  clothes  and  arms  with  all  the 
manner  of  a  well-trained  valet.  Having  assisted 
their  masters  the  servants  prepared  their  own 
beds  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 


332  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  next  morning  Edwin  Warfield  gave  the 
neighbours  an  illustration  of  what  can  be  done 
with  an  American  rifle,  in  a  keen  competition  with 
Haidar's  sons  and  his  major  domo.  The  target 
was  a  Standard  Oil  tin,  still  bearing  the  stamp  of 
its  place  of  manufacture,  Bayonne,  New  Jersey. 
It  stood  on  a  neighbouring  hillside  at  a  convenient 
distance,  and  toward  it  the  younger  son  sent  shot 
after  shot  from  his  clumsy,  crutch-butted,  large- 
bored  old  Russian  cannon,  until  his  youthful  arms 
could  no  longer  support  the  weight  of  the  unwieldy 
invention.  Then  the  neat  automatic  Winchester 
came  into  play,  and  Edwin  Warfield  easily  filled 
the  tin  with  holes  without  removing  the  rifle  from 
his  shoulder.  Murmurs  of  applause  rose  from  the 
delighted  crowd,  and  the  older  boy  tried  his  skill. 
He  fired  several  shots,  having  a  manful  struggle 
with  the  clumsy  bolt  every  time  he  threw  a  new 
cartridge  into  the  breech.  Finally  one  of  his 
heavy  projectiles — I  cannot  call  them  bullets — 
struck  the  tin,  carried  away  all  of  one  side,  and 
hurled  it  to  the  ground.  That  was  enough  for  the 
Kurds  who  hailed  their  young  chief  as  the  winner 
of  the  match.  But  he  was  no  fool  and  made  no 
secret  of  his  appreciation  of  the  greater  accuracy, 
neatness,  and  ease  of  handling  that  characterize 
the  American  arm. 

Accompanied  by  this  pleasant  and  handsome 
young  man,  and  one  of  the  servants,  we  set  out 
from  Haidar's  village,  taking  regretful  leave  of  our 
hospitable  bandit.  The  country  we  rode  through 


M 


The  Shekak  Kurds  333 

was  a  great  wilderness  of  bare,  ragged  rocks,  and 
ravines  in  which  roared  fierce  torrents  of  green 
snow  water.  But  occasionally  we  found  a  lit- 
tle patch  of  cultivation  with  a  village  in  some 
protected  spot  nearby.  The  latter  are  of  two 
types,  unprotected  Kurdish  villages,  homes 
of  the  dominant  race,  and  walled,  fortified  vil- 
lages, the  homes  of  Nestorian  Christians  who 
till  their  little  isolated  holdings  with  arms  ever 
by. 

As  we  got  farther  from  the  frontier  the  villages 
increased  in  frequency,  and  the  very  hillsides  were 
cultivated  wherever  the  slope  was  low  enough  to 
hold  soil.  But  even  there  the  arable  land  only 
amounted  to  about  ten  per  cent,  of  the  total.  It 
was  the  season  for  ploughing  and  we  saw  many  a 
strange  outfit.  Buffaloes  were  quite*  common  in 
spite  of  the  altitude, — over  eight  thousand  feet, — 
and  we  often  saw  ploughs  drawn  by  a  pair  of  them 
and  a  pair  of  little  scrubby  bulls.  The  ploughman 
managed  the  former  but  the  latter  were  usually 
piloted  by  a  little  boy  perched  on  the  yoke.  The 
contrast  between  the  two  kinds  of  cattle  was  very 
striking,  for  the  bulls  were  as  like  the  huge  black 
buffaloes  as  a  donkey  is  like  a  draft  horse.  The 
ploughmen  wore  various  costumes,  chiefly  Kurd- 
ish but  sometimes  more  like  that  of  the  Persian 
peasant. 

About  the  middle  of  the  morning  we  met  a 
young  gentleman  whose  physiognomy  left  no 
doubt  that  he  was  another  son  of  Haidar  Agha. 


334  The  Gate  of  Asia 

He  was  clearly  pleased  at  encountering  us  and 
immediately  joined  our  party. 

A  jolly  party  it  was  too.  The  son  who  had 
accompanied  us  from  the  start  continued  his 
friendly  rivalry  with  Edwin  Warfield  in  renewed 
trials  of  skill  with  the  rifle.  Every  little  dicky 
bird  that  appeared  perched  on  a  rock  he  stalked 
with  the  greatest  care.  If  there  was  no  better 
cover  he  would  remove  his  hat  and  push  it  along 
ahead  of  him.  If  the  bird  did  not  take  flight  and 
spoil  it  all  he  would  rest  his  piece  on  the  hat,  take 
careful  aim,  and  fire, — from  a  distance  of  thirty 
to  fifty  yards.  The  almost  unvarying  program 
was  a  frightful  roar,  a  cloud  of  gas,  a  spatter  of 
lead  on  the  rock,  and  a  badly  frightened  cock- 
sparrow.  Edwin  Warfield's  Anglo-Saxon  phlegm 
did  not  permit  him  to  indulge  in  the  almost  Gallic 
enthusiasm  of  his  rival.  But  he  was  fond  of  his 
rifle  and  kept  an  eye  open  for  a  chance  to  prove  it. 
This  came  in  the  shape  of  a  bluejay,  high  up  on  the 
top  of  a  canon  wall,  a  hundred  yards  away,  but 
clearly  outlined  against  the  sky.  Dismounting  he 
slipped  a  cartridge  into  the  breech,  aimed,  and 
fired.  The  sharp  crack  of  the  Winchester  offended 
no  one's  ears.  There  was  no  gas,  and  the  bird 
tumbled  down  the  rock.  The  young  Kurd  im- 
mediately scrambled  up  after  it,  retrieved  it  with 
great  gusto,  and  carried  it  on  his  saddle  all  day, 
constantly  admiring  the  skilfully  placed  bullet- 
hole  in  the  breast. 

His  brother  was  a  youth  of  twenty  or  there- 


The  Shekak  Kurds  335 

abouts,  and  proved  to  be  as  friendly  and  jolly  a 
companion  as  any  traveller  could  desire.  He  was 
interested  in  Edwin  Warfield's  sun  helmet,  that 
had  originally  come  from  the  Philippines  and 
proved  as  effectual  in  mountain  travel  as  it  had 
in  the  tropics.  After  he  had  examined  it  he  pro- 
posed a  change  of  headgear,  which  was  effected 
with  ludicrous  results.  The  helmet  came  down 
well  over  the  Kurd's  ears,  while  the  American  bore 
the  lofty  felt  hat  perched  so  high  on  his  head  that 
it  served  to  accentuate  his  already  considerable 
height.  The  younger  brother  fairly  broke  down 
with  roars  of  laughter,  in  which  I  heartily  joined. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  entered  a  canon  in  a 
comparatively  recent  flow  of  lava.  On  each  side 
we  were  shut  in  by  high  walls  of  columnar  basalt, 
along  the  foot  of  which  ran  the  trail,  iiow  in,  now 
out  of  the  mountain  stream.  In  this  place  of 
uncertain  footing  we  encountered  two  sorry- 
looking  peasants,  with  a  couple  of  donkeys  loaded 
with  firewood.  These  our  young  chieftains 
accosted  merrily,  bandying  jokes  back  and  forth 
with  them.  I  suggested  by  signs  that  I  would  like 
to  photograph  a  hold-up.  Our  escort  caught  on 
immediately  and  aimed  their  guns  at  the  poor 
peasants,  who  understood  perfectly  what  was 
expected  of  them  and  submitted  with  twinkling 
eyes  and  merry  faces  to  the  unique  experience  of 
being  held  up  in  the  interests  of  art. 

Making  our  way  down  the  ravine,  until  tribu- 
tary streams  had  enlarged  it  and  swollen  its 


336  The  Gate  of  Asia 

torrent  to  a  fair-sized  river,  we  came  to  Chari,  the 
mountain  stronghold  of  the  principal  chief  of  the 
Shekak  tribe,  Ismail  Agha. 

In  the  midst  of  a  typical  village  rose  a  large 
brick  building,  much  like  a  Persian  town  house, 
but  built  with  an  eye  for  defence,  and,  like  most 
important  buildings  in  the  Near  East,  half  ruinous. 
Riding  up  to  the  door  we  dismounted  and  were 
received  by  a  Russian  in  uniform,  who  led  us  up 
to  the  upper  floor  and  did  the  honours.  We  seated 
ourselves  in  a  large  room  with  numerous  high 
windows,  partly  glazed  with  stained  glass.  The 
walls  and  ceiling  were  badly  plastered,  but  the 
floor  was  entirely  covered  with  Persian  rugs,  of 
varied  hue  and  pattern.  It  was  much  finer  than 
any  room  in  Van,  either  in  the  residence  of  the 
Vali,  or  of  the  commandant,  but  much  like  the 
rooms  used  for  the  same  purpose  by  wealthy 
Persians.  Squatting  on  their  heels  around  the 
walls  and  crowding  the  lower  end  of  the  room  were 
Ismail's  retainers  in  the  picturesque  tribal  cos- 
tume, well  provided  with  ammunition,  their  rifles 
on  the  floor  beside  them  or  leaning  against  the  wall. 
In  a  place  of  honour  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room 
sat  an  ascetic  white-bearded  mollah,  in  flowing 
robes  and  white  turban. 

When  we  had  talked  for  some  minutes  with  the 
Russian — through  two  interpreters — and  shown 
him  a  letter  of  commendation  from  M.  Ulferieff, 
we  became  aware  of  a  stir  about  the  door  and 
the  company  rose  expectantly.  Gravely,  royally, 


The  Shekak  Kurds  337 

like  a  French  monarch  at  a  levee,  entered  Ismail 
Agha,  the  terror  of  the  frontier,  the  notorious 
bandit,  the  man  for  whose  favour  both  Czar  and 
Sultan  were  bidding  at  that  very  time.  He  was  a 
slight  short  man,  with  a  light  complexion  and 
brown  moustache.  He  wore  a  black  costume,  black 
scarves  around  his  hat,  Russian  shoes  of  very  light 
leather,  and  yellow  pigskin  putties.  With  a  solemn 
face,  but  a  light  step,  he  walked  to  a  chair  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  room.  Before  seating  himself  he 
greeted  us  gravely,  then  sat  down  and  turned  to 
us,  before  speaking  to  any  one  else,  and  saluted 
in  the  Mohammedan  fashion,  by  raising  the  hand 
to  the  breast  and  the  forehead,  several  times.  The 
Russian  and  the  mollah  then  received  formal 
greetings,  and  not  until  after  that  did  he  smile. 
His  greetings  to  our  guides  and  a  few  others  in  the 
room  were  cordial  and  friendly,  given  with  the  air 
of  a  mountain  chief,  not  with  that  of  an  Oriental 
potentate  assumed  in  greeting  us. 

The  Russian  was  explaining  our  nationality  and 
the  purpose  of  our  journey  when  we  were  served 
with  fried  eggs  and  bread,  with  tea  in  large  glasses, 
d  la  Russe.  We  had  heard  much  of  Ismail's  light 
cavalry,  and  hoped  we  might  have  an  opportunity 
to  see  some  of  his  men  ride  and  shoot  from  the 
saddle,  an  exercise  in  which  they  are  said  to  be 
unusually  proficient.  We  therefore  flattered  him 
much  about  his  soldiers,  and  their  superiority  to 
the  Turks,  but  succeeded  only  in  tickling  his 
vanity. 


338  The  Gate  of  Asia 

The  history  of  this  picturesque  character  is 
most  interesting,  and  it  may  be  appropriate  to 
repeat  one  of  the  stories  that  are  current  about 
him  in  Urmi  and  Van.  He  owes  his  position  as 
chief  of  the  tribe  to  the  murder  of  his  brother 
Jaffar  Agha,  by  a  rascally  Vali  of  Urmi,  Mejid  es 
Sultaneh  by  name.  He  sent  the  Shekak  chief  a 
promise  that  if  he  would  come  to  Urmi  for  a 
conference  he  would  be  treated  with  all  honour  and 
allowed  to  depart  the  city  in  safety.  Trusting  to 
this  guarantee  he  came  and  conferred  for  some 
time  with  the  Vali.  He  then  rode  out  of  the  gate 
on  his  return  to  the  hills,  but  was  recalled  by,  a 
messenger  on  some  pretext.  Returning  with  his 
escort  to  the  Vali's  house,  he  entered  with  one  or 
two  followers  as  before.  But  no  sooner  were  they 
seated  in  the  reception  room  than  a  group  of  men 
opened  fire  from  a  doorway,  and  killed  them  like 
rats  in  a  trap.  The  escort  without  suspected 
treachery,  and  tried  to  break  in,  but  were  over- 
whelmed by  superior  numbers  and  those  that 
survived  had  to  flee  for  their  lives.  Ismail  was 
then  in  Khoi,  north  of  Lake  Urmi,  and  there  re- 
ceived the  news  of  his  brother's  murder.  Gather- 
ing together  what  possessions  he  had,  he  fled  to  his 
mountain  stronghold  and  became  the  implacable 
foe  of  the  Persian  regime  in  Urmi.  From  the 
time  of  his  accession  to  the  chief  ship  in  1902  until 
the  Russian  invasion  in  1911,  he  was  the  friend  of 
the  Turks,  who  claimed  suzerainty  over  his  tribe 
and  backed  them  up  in  their  constant  raids  into 


The  Shekak  Kurds  339 

Urmi  plain,  raids  that  made  it  necessary  to  keep 
the  walls  of  Urmi  in  repair,  and  sent  train  after 
train  of  terrified  villagers  to  seek  refuge  within 
them. 

The  "soldiers"  of  the  Vali  were  quite  useless 
against  them.  A  powerful  landholder  would  de- 
mand protection  for  his  villages  and  on  account 
of  his  influence  at  Tehran  the  Vali  would  have  to 
despatch  what  men  he  could.  After  a  few  hours 
they  would  ride  back  to  the  city  saying  they  had 
seen  enormous  bodies  of  Kurds,  like  clouds  around 
the  villages,  and  had  fallen  back  before  them  to 
defend  the  city.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there  would 
be  no  one  on  the  roads  but  refugees  from  villages 
burned  the  night  before,  whose  last  possessions 
served  to  line  the  saddle-bags  of  the  cowardly 
troops. 

This  sort  of  thing  went  on  for  years  and  Ismail 
became  a  rich  man,  through  plundering  Persians 
and  receiving  bonuses  from  Abdul-Hamid.  But 
the  Young  Turk  revolution  failed  to  obtain  his 
sympathy,  for  it  was  an  army  movement  that  took 
all  the  prizes  for  the  regular  officers,  and  left 
slender  pickings  for  the  old  Sultan's  pampered 
irregulars.  Thus  began  a  coolness  that  was 
encouraged  by  the  Russians.  They  came  in  to 
Urmi  first  to  protect  the  roads,  and  later  to  occupy 
the  country.  This  spoiled  Ismail's  occupation  of 
raiding,  but  there  was  little  enough  left  to  raid, 
and  the  Russians  invited  him  to  Tiflis,  flattered 
him  skilfully,  and  presented  him  with  a  military 


340  The  Gate  of  Asia 

decoration.  Thus  it  happens  that  Russian  officers 
are  welcome  at  Chari,  and  Ismail  Agha  threatens 
his  erstwhile  friends  in  Turkey  with  a  Russian 
military  rifle. 

Before  we  left  Chari  we  persuaded  our  bandit- 
host  to  pose  for  a  photograph  in  the  midst  of  his 
followers.  His  posture  was  a  study  in  self-con- 
scious glory — he  might  have  been  Czar  of  all  the 
East! 

Riding  down  the  gorge  toward  Lake  Urmi  we 
soon  discovered  that  our  gallant  AH  Chaush  did 
not  know  the  way,  and  as  we  had  declined  Ismail's 
kind  offer  of  an  escort,  we  had  no  other  guide. 
The  stream  was  of  no  mean  size,  rarely  fordable, 
and  usually  bordered  by  banks  of  volcanic  pebbles 
of  astonishing  variety  of  colour  and  crystal  form. 
But  lofty  walls  of  basalt  columns  hemmed  us  in  on 
both  sides,  and  at  times  the  track  we  were  follow- 
ing ended  in  a  place  where  the  swirling  current  had 
undermined  the  bank  to  the  very  wall.  In  one 
such  place  we  waded  along  the  foot  and  climbed 
out  where  the  bank  appeared  beyond.  But  the 
footing  was  bad  and  my  horse,  in  seeking  to  reach 
dry  ground,  fell  into  a  deep  sink  under  the  steep 
bank.  I  had  to  swim  for  it,  as  well  as  the  horse, 
but  no  harm  was  done  except  to  the  film  in  the 
camera,  which  got  a  good  wetting,  resulting  in  the 
loss  of  Ismail's  portrait. 

Three  times  we  followed  goat  tracks  far  up  the 
sides  of  the  gorge,  only  to  find  a  return  to  the  river 
necessary.  But  finally  we  succeeded  in  clambering 


The  Shekak  Kurds  341 

out  by  a  steep  and  circuitous  path,  over  boulders 
and  slippery  places  that  were  not  designed  for  the 
use  of  nervous  travellers.  But  neither  we  nor  our 
muleteers  came  under  that  head,  and  out  we  came 
on  to  a  plateau,  with  all  the  loads  safe,  and  the 
road  we  should  have  taken  just  before  us.  There 
was  our  Russian  friend  too,  and  not  far  away  we 
could  make  out  the  poplar-lined  gardens  of  Dil- 
man,  the  chief  town  of  the  Persian  district  of 
Salmas. 

Dilman  is  really  a  collection  of  villages  built 
amid  vineyards  and  orchards,  with  fields  of  alfalfa 
and  wheat  lying  beyond,  all  surrounded  by  high 
mud  walls.  The  roads  are  almost  invariably 
bordered  by  poplars,  under  which  run  streams  of 
clear  water,  conducted  from  the  mountains  that 
ring  the  city.  Each  village  has  its  own  religion; 
they  are  Moslem,  Jewish,  and  Christian,  the  last 
being  divided  into  Nestorians,  Chaldseans,  Protest- 
ant Syrians,  and  Armenians. 

Passing  in  the  dark  of  evening  through  the  out- 
lying gardens  we  came  upon  a  Russian  picket, 
easily  passed  with  the  help  of  M.  Ulferieff  's  letter 
and  the  explanations  of  our  Russian  companion. 
This  gentleman  was  a  government  engineer,  and 
though  we  could  not  talk  with  him  except  by  two 
interpreters,  he  was  very  courteous  to  us  and 
escorted  us  through  village  after  village  to  our 
destination,  the  Syrian  village  of  Heftouan.  Here 
we  arrived  long  after  dark  at  the  house  of  a  native 
physician,  Dr.  David  Johannan,  who  had  been 


34s  The  Gate  of  Asia 

educated  in  the  United  States  by  the  Urmi  Pres- 
byterian mission.  He  received  us  with  the  greatest 
hospitality,  and  after  a  late  but  excellent  dinner 
we  were  glad  to  find  refuge  in  sleep  after  our 
arduous  day. 

Leaving  Dilman  we  rode  through  groves  and 
walled  gardens,  with  their  open  channels  of  clean 
water,  where  big  black  buffaloes  were  being 
washed  by  small  children,  and  so  into  the  desolate 
hills  that  border  Lake  Urmi,  that  was  occasionally 
visible  on  our  left.  Only  large  villages  have 
survived  the  depredations  of  the  Kurds  and  in  one 
of  these  we  planned  to  spend  the  night.  We  missed 
it  however  and  came  instead  to  the  smaller  village 
of  Gulunji,  in  the  plain  near  the  lake-shore.  We 
were  received  with  great  courtesy  by  the  headman, 
and  lodged  in  his  house. 

All  the  village  notables  came  to  see  us  including 
the  mollah,  an  old  man  whose  thin  dark  features 
and  priestly  aba  and  turban  gave  him  the  appear- 
ance of  being  an  Arab.  His  clerical  education  had 
included  Arabic,  and  we  were  able  to  talk  with 
him  in  that  language.  He  and  the  headman  were 
quite  astonished  at  our  unfamiliarity  with  the 
local  languages.  That  we  did  not  speak  Turkish, 
the  language  of  this  part  of  Persia,  they  knew. 
But  did  we  not  speak  Farsi  (Persian)  or  Kermanji 
(Kurdish)  ?  No,  we  spoke  neither  of  those  tongues. 

"Surely,"  said  the  mollah,  "the  Sahib  does  not 
speak  Syriac  or  Armenian?"  (the  Christian  lan- 
guages of  the  neighbourhood).  "Then  the  Sahib 


The  Shekak  Kurds  343 

speaks  Russian!"  But  we  did  not,  either  of  us, 
speak  Russian  and  the  good  priest  was  utterly  at 
a  loss  to  know  what  we  did  speak. 

So  I  explained  that  our  native  language  was 
Inglizi  (English),  and  he  confessed  that  he  was 
quite  without  experience  of  that  tongue.  I  then 
expressed  surprise  that  his  reverence  was  un- 
familiar with  French,  German,  Latin,  and  Greek, 
and  when  I  claimed  to  be  conversant  with  all  he 
seemed  quite  impressed. 

"And  does  the  Sahib  also  read  those  tongues? 
Then  the  Sahib  is  indeed  a  mirza — a  scholar!" 

The  Russian  officers  stationed  at  Gavalan, 
where  we  had  intended  to  stop,  evidently  resented 
our  passing  on,  and  having  heard  of  our  arrival  at 
Gulunji,  rode  over  to  see  us.  They  came  in  on  our 
gathering  of  villagers,  two  burly  men  in  pearl 
grey  top  coats  with  green  trimmings  and  clanking 
sabres.  They  perused  M.  UlferiefFs  letter,  which 
was  by  this  time  well  thumbed,  and  inquired  about 
our  journey.  One  of  them  was  quite  talkative, 
and  lorded  it  over  the  villagers,  ordering  them  about 
freely.  They  did  not  resent  it,  however,  and  seemed 
to  have  considerable  respect,  and  no  little  liking 
for  this  tyrant  of  theirs. 

The  next  day  brought  us  to  Urmi  after  a  long 
ride  down  the  lake-shore,  passing  camel  caravans 
and  ruined  khans  at  first,  and  later  entering  the 
cultivated  plain.  For  hours  we  rode  through  lanes 
of  garden  walls  and  budding  trees,  between 
blossoming  orchards  and  green  alfalfa  fields. 


344  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Often  we  met  Russian  patrols  who  let  us  pass  when 
they  had  seen  our  letter,  and  frequently  we  saw 
squadrons  of  Cossacks  at  drill  in  the  green  fields. 
As  we  neared  the  city  we  passed  through  villages 
on  the  outskirts,  and  met  peasants  coming  out 
from  market. 

Our  destination  was  the  American  mission,  but 
we  did  not  know  how  to  reach  it.  This  difficulty 
was  overcome,  however,  by  a  fortunate  encounter 
with  a  Syrian  physician,  educated,  like  our  host  at 
Dilman,  in  America.  Quite  by  accident  we  met 
him,  and  in  plain  English  he  directed  us.  Soon 
after  we  arrived  at  the  mission  "college"  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  and  found  ourselves  once 
again  among  our  own  people. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

URMI  AND  TABRIZ,  THE  CITIES  OF  AZERBAIJAN 

URMI  is  the  chief  city  of  the  western  section  of 
Azerbaijan,  the  most  fertile,  and,  partly  for 
that  reason,  the  most  harassed  province  in  Persia. 
So  constantly  has  it  been  conquered  by  horde  after 
horde  of  invaders,  driven  out  of  the  eastern  deserts 
by  the  ever-varying  climate  of  those  regions  of 
successive  plenty  and  want,  that  its  ancient  history 
has  been  lost  to  us.  But  in  recent  times  it  has 
been  successively  violated  and  held  for  a  time  by 
Arabs,  Seljuks,  Mongols,  Ottomans,  Persians,  and 
Russians.  Once  a  part  of  the  Aryan  empires  of 
Media  and  Persia,  it  was  later  ravaged  by  the 
Turanian  Parthians  and  Scythians,  to  whom  it  was 
an  important  base  in  their  great  conflicts  with  the 
Roman  Empire.  After  them  came  another 
Persian  empire,  and  with  the  fall  of  the  Sassanids, 
the  Arab  conquest  of  Persia,  which  added  Azer- 
baijan to  the  lands  of  the  kalif.  The  Seljuks 
passed  through  it  on  their  way  to  found  the  first 
Turkish  empire  in  Asia  Minor,  and  on  their  heels 
came  Genghis  Khan,  who  made  Maragha,  opposite 
Urmi,  the  capital  from  which  he  planned  to  destroy 

345 


346  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  last  vestiges  of  the  rule  of  the  Kalifate.  He 
paved  the  way  for  his  descendant  Tamerlane,  who 
reduced  the  cities  of  the  devoted  province  to  heaps 
of  smoking  ruins,  on  his  way  to  Asia  Minor,  whence 
he  brought  back  the  Ottoman  sultan,  a  prisoner, 
from  his  desolated  capital.  So  terribly  was  the 
population  depleted  by  this  blighting  whirlwind 
from  the  Turkoman  steppes  that  the  province  fell 
an  easy  prey  in  later  years  to  the  growing  Ottoman 
power,  and  ever  since  has  been  a  bone  of  conten- 
tion between  the  sultan  and  the  shah.  But  the 
present  decade  has  seen  Russian  rule  firmly  estab- 
lished, and  today  Azerbaijan,  held  by  no  less  than 
forty  thousand  troops,  is  in  reality  a  Muscovite 
province.  Nor  has  this  last  transition  been  less 
bloody  than  many  an  earlier  one,  thanks  to  the 
plundering  of  villages,  street  massacres,  and  the 
ghastly  gibbets  that  ringed  the  walls  of  Tabriz 
only  a  few  months  before  our  visit. 

This  latest  travail  has  resulted  in  peace,  however, 
and  comparative  personal  safety,  so  that  Azerbai- 
jan is  resuming  her  ancient  position  as  the  granary 
of  Iran.  American  cultivators  and  reapers  are 
being  introduced  through  Russia  to  replace  by 
mechanical  means  the  hands  that  will  work  no 
more,  and  the  vineyards  that  can  supply  half  the 
world  with  raisins  are  again  bringing  forth  their 
harvest  of  purple  and  gold. 

Though  it  is  part  of  modern  Persia  few  of  that 
people  are  to  be  found  among  the  inhabitants  of  the 
province.  Nor  are  there  many  descendants  of  the 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  347 

ancient  Medes  except  in  the  southernmost  part, 
where  the  Mukri  Kurds  probably  represent  the 
purest  blood  of  that  race.  Repeated  Turanian 
invasions  have  resulted  in  a  nearly  complete  re- 
population  with  people  of  Turkoman  origin,"so  that 
in  feature  and  complexion,  as  well  as  in  language, 
Azerbaijan  is  a  Turkish  province.  Persian  is  still 
the  official  language,  and  the  principal  literary 
language,  but  it  is  not  understood  in  the  bazaars, 
and  to  be  able  to  read  it  is  to  earn  the  title  of  mirza, 
or  scholar.  But  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
country  are  chiefly  Persian,  especially  in  the  cities. 
The  Persian  dress  has  been  adopted,  and  Persian 
love  of  intrigue  and  habitual  mendacity  have 
wrought  havoc  with  the  rugged  desert  stock.  The 
religion  too  is  the  heretical  Persian  Mahommedan- 
ism,  the  Shia  schism,  although  the  majority  of  the 
Turks  and  the  Kurds  cling  to  their  allegiance  to  the 
more  orthodox  Sunni  persuasion. 

Azerbaijan  is  also  the  home  of  numbers  of 
Assyrians,  members  originally  of  the  Nestorian 
church,  who  migrated  into  the  Urmi  region  during 
the  Sassanian  empire.  Their  church  has  been 
much  broken  up  by  the  efforts  of  Roman  Catholic, 
Russian  Orthodox,  and  American  Presbyterian 
missionaries.  The  first  of  these  claim  the  greatest 
number  of  proselytes,  although  their  work  did  not 
begin  until  after  that  of  the  Americans.  They  owe 
their  success  to  the  use  of  far  from  scrupulous 
means,  such  as  intimidation,  and  working  upon 
personal  disagreements.  Their  chief  enemies  have 


348  The  Gate  of  Asia 

been  the  Russians,  who,  backed  by  their  govern- 
ment, succeeded  at  one  time  in  getting  a  fir- 
man from  the  shah  prohibiting  Christians  from 
changing  their  religion.  A  little  backshish  to  the 
officials  was  enough  to  get  this  interpreted  to  mean 
that  rendering  allegiance  to  the  Russian  Patriarch 
was  no  change  from  the  Nestorian  religion,  but 
entering  the  Roman  fold  was. 

The  Americans  began  their  work  nearly  one 
hundred  years  ago,  in  a  little  Nestorian  village  on  a 
lofty  ridge  that  borders  the  plain  of  Urmi,  some 
two  or  three  hours'  drive  from  the  city.  Today 
they  have  schools  and  a  church  within  the  walls, 
and  a  large  boys'  school,  called  the  "college, "  and 
a  hospital,  in  a  beautiful  high-walled  compound 
outside.  Here  we  were  the  guests  of  Dr.  Packard, 
the  resident  physician.  The  pretty  compound  was 
rich  with  fresh  spring  grass,  the  tall  poplars  had 
just  burst  into  leaf,  and  outside  all  was  springlike 
and  colourful  with  flowering  almond  and  pome- 
granate trees  above  a  thick  rich  carpet  of  deep 
green  alfalfa.  The  mountain  air — Urmi  is  more 
than  four  thousand  feet  above  the  sea — was  soft 
.  and  balmy,  newly  washed  by  the  spring  rains. 

Most  of  the  Nestorians  wear  European  clothes, 
but  there  were  several  students  from  frill  villages 
wearing  the  Hakkiari  costume,  and  in  the  city  we 
often  saw  Kurds  of  that  and  the  Mukri  tribe, 
always  in  full  native  dress.  The  lower  class  towns- 
folk wear  a  long  loose  tunic  reaching  to  the  knee 
and  girt  with  a  sash,  very  loose  trousers,  clumsy 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  349 

shoes,  and  a  black  cup-shaped  hat  of  felt,  or  of  a 
coarse  cloth  made  in  Russia  for  that  trade  to 
resemble  astrakhan.  In  cold  weather  they  don  a 
sleeveless  jacket  of  felt  or  frieze,  or  an  aba,  a 
garment  that  came  in  with  Mohammedanism  and 
is  universally  worn  by  the  priesthood.  The 
costume  of  the  wealthier  classes,  however,  more 
nearly  approaches  the  European  style.  They 
wear  a  long  frock  coat,  generally  of  blue  broad- 
cloth, with  a  military  collar  and  brass  or  silver 
buttons,  with  trousers  to  match,  Russian  shoes, 
and  a  black  astrakhan  hat. 

The  women  never  appear  on  the  street  except 
in  a  great  shapeless,  balloonlike  garment  covering 
the  head  and  ending  in  voluminous  trousers. 
There  is  a  narrow  slit  for  the  eyes,  protected  by  a 
veil,  or  a  bit  of  gauze  sewn  across  it.  The  city 
women  are  never  allowed  to  be  seen  in  any  other 
garb  except  by  their  nearest  relatives.  But  the 
peasant  women  on  returning  from  market  wear 
their  street  clothes  only  as  far  as  the  gate,  where 
they  promptly  remove  them,  pack  their  purchases 
in  the  baggy  trousers,  and  trudge  homeward  in  the 
costume  of  the  anderun,  the  women's  apartments. 
This  consists  of  a  short  vest,  the  most  abbreviated 
of  abbreviated  skirts,  reaching  scarcely  halfway 
to  the  knee,  and  long  close-fitting  drawers.  This 
ridiculous  costume  was  prescribed  by  the  first 
Shah  to  visit  Europe,  Nasr-ed-Din,  and  the  in- 
spiration was  a  Parisian  ballet.  The  fact  that  he 
was  able  to  force  such  a  ludicrous  costume,  quite 


350  The  Gate  of  Asia 

contrary  to  pre-existing  ideas  of  propriety,  not 
only  on  the  women  of  the  court,  but  on  those  of 
remote  country  districts  also,  is  a  striking  com- 
mentary on  the  autocratic  power  of  the  Shah. 

In  order  to  reach  the  bazaars  from  our  stopping 
place,  we  had  to  pass  through  the  quarter  occupied 
by  the  Russians.  A  large  group  of  ugly  brick 
buildings,  in  the  Russian  imitation  of  European 
architecture,  furnishes  accommodation  and  offices 
for  the  consul  and  the  principal  military  officers, 
while  other  officials  and  hangers-on  live  nearby. 
There  is  a  small  barracks  also ;  but  most  of  the 
troops  are  quartered  elsewhere.  They  were 
constantly  at  drill  in  the  orchards  opposite  the 
consul's  compound,  both  infantry  and  Kossacks. 
Here  they  have  taken  for  military  use  part  of  the 
road  built  by  the  missionaries,  with  funds  sent 
from  America  to  give  employment  to  suffering 
Nestorians.  All  civilians  are  compelled  to  drive 
through  the  mud  beside  the  metalled  section,  and 
the  good  missionaries  have  the  doubtful  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  the  boots  of  the  Russian  infantry 
kept  dry,  while  they  themselves  scarcely  know 
whether  they  will  get  by  without  being  mired. 

Just  beyond  is  one  of  the  gates  of  the  city  and 
a  bridge  of  the  now  disused  moat.  A  short  dis- 
tance within  is  the  American  church,  and  beyond 
a  maze  of  narrow,  dirty,  brick-walled  streets. 
When  the  Russians  first  came  the  soldiers  kept 
getting  lost,  and  wandering  aimlessly  in  search  of 
the  bazaars.  So  every  corner  on  the  way  was 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  351 

marked  with  arrows  indicating  the  proper  direc- 
tion. Following  these  welcome  signs  we  found 
our  way  to  a  typical  Persian  market-place,  much 
like  that  of  Bagdad.  The  stalls  on  either  side 
and  the  vaulted  roof  were  all  of  brick,  and  the 
long  winding  passages  were  lit  only  by  small 
windows  in  the  vaults  and  squinch  arches  that 
spanned  the  roadway.  Shafts  of  light,  full  of 
eddying  dust,  cut  the  gloom  from  them,  but  did 
not  dispel  the  half -darkness  in  which  the  scene  was 
plunged. 

There  are  some  open  squares  where  small  dealers 
sit  under  a  makeshift  shelter,  with  baskets  of 
grain,  dried  fruits,  or  country  produce  before  them. 
One  or  two  large  khans  are  the  resort  of  wealthy 
merchants,  and  there  things  are  more  orderly, 
marketing  is  done  by  wholesale,  and  goods  are 
stacked  in  packing  cases.  In  one  of  these  we 
found  a  large  court  with  a  pool  in  the  centre  where 
men  were  washing  and  drinking  indiscriminately. 
Beside  it  were  thousands  of  boxes  of  raisins,  for 
shipment  to  Russia,  and  around  the  court  dingy 
counting-houses  where  business  was  going  on  as 
quietly  as  it  would  in  the  West. 

Urmi  bazaar  is  full  of  fascinating  scenes,  typical 
of  Oriental  life,  such  scenes  as  we  are  accustomed 
to  associate  with  the  tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 
As  in  Bagdad  the  colouring  is  subdued  and  quiet, 
on  account  of  the  prevalence  of  dust  from  the 
roadways.  The  mosques  are  not  conspicuous 
but  there  are  one  or  two  domes,  covered  with 


352  The  Gate  of  Asia 

beautifully  executed  tile  work,  which  is  the  glory 
of  Persian  architecture. 

Outside  Urmi  there  is  a  memorial  of  a  still  older 
religion,  the  faith  of  the  two  early  Persian  empires 
founded  by  the  teachings  of  Zarathustra,  or 
Zoroaster.  This  man  was  the  great  reformer  of 
Magianism,  the  old  nature  worship  of  the  Iranian 
tribes.  He  was  born  near  the  present  Urmi  in  the 
seventh  century  B.C.  He  taught  that  with  the 
help  of  the  Principle  of  Good,  Ahuramazda,  whose 
symbol  was  fire,  man  must  fight  all  his  life  against 
Ahriman,  the  Principle  of  Evil.  To  enable  man  to 
come  in  direct  contact  with  the  former,  he  instituted 
an  elaborate  ritual,  including  the  maintenance  of  a 
sacred  fire. 

The  ashes  of  this  fire  and  the  sacrifices  burned 
by  it  were  held  sacred,  and  kept  in  certain  allotted 
places,  where  in  time  great  mounds  accumulated. 
These  are  the  last  vestiges  of  his  teachings  in  the 
birthplace  of  the  prophet.  None  of  his  followers 
remain  in  Urmi  today,  though  there  are  small 
colonies  in  various  parts  of  Persia,  notably  at 
Yezd  and  Kerman,  and  an  influential  but  de- 
creasing group  of  colonies  in  India,  centring 
around  Bombay,  whither  they  fled  from  Moslem 
persecution. 

The  ash  mounds  are  being  steadily  depleted  by 
the  peasants,  who  use  the  material  for  fertilizing 
their  fields,  exactly  as  those  of  Egypt  use  the 
debris  of  ancient  cities  in  the  Nile  valley.  In  the 
course  of  their  digging  many  strange  objects  come 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  353 

to  light,  which  are  often  brought  to  foreigners 
and  sold  as  antikas.  These  are  chiefly  bronze 
instruments  and  bones.  Among  the  latter,  a  find 
fraught  with  sinister  suggestion  was  a  group  of 
five  skulls,  with  copper  nails  embedded  in  the 
bone,  showing  that  death  had  been  caused  by 
hammering  those  objects  into  the  brain.  The 
mass  of  mounds  is  rapidly  diminishing  and  in  a 
short  time  they  will  have  disappeared  unless 
Russian  intervention  serves  to  preserve  them  for 
posterity.  They  have  never  been  excavated  by 
scholars,  because  an  imperial  firman  gave  France 
the  sole  right  of  excavation  in  Persia.  Savants 
of  that  country  have  done  excellent  work  in  many 
places,  but  like  the  dog  in  the  manger  have  pre- 
vented others  from  developing  what  they  were 
unable  to  take  up. 

The  city  of  Urmi  is  situated  some  ten  miles 
from  the  great  salt  lake  of  the  same  name,  which 
lies  between  the  city  and  Tabriz,  the  provincial 
capital.  Until  quite  recently  the  only  means  of 
crossing  was  by  taking  one  of  the  wretched  native 
sailing  boats,  mere  tubs  with  stubby  poplar  masts. 
With  a  good  wind  the  passage  might  be  made  in 
two  days ;  without,  seven  or  eight  might  be  spent  in 
the  blazing  sun  on  short  commons  of  food  and 
water.  In  either  event  the  place  of  landing  was 
far  from  certain.  As  the  lake  is  very  shallow, 
nowhere  more  than  thirty  feet  in  depth,  and 
bordered  by  broad  stretches  of  salt  marsh  on  the 
far  side,  it  not  infrequently  happened  that  the 

83 


354  The  Gate  of  Asia 

unskilled  navigators  ran  aground  half  a  mile  or  a 
mile  from  terra  firma.  Unenviable  indeed  was  the 
predicament  of  an  acquaintance  of  ours,  who 
having  spent  several  days  on  the  bosom  of  the 
bitter  waters,  was  compelled  to  wade  for  a  mile 
through  soft  mud  and  water,  with  a  bubble  of 
marsh  gas  bursting  under  his  nose  at  every  step. 
Once  ashore,  he  had  to  walk  six  miles  to  the  shelter 
of  a  village  with  his  clothes  caked  with  salt,  and 
even  there  he  found  there  was  not  sufficient  fresh 
water  to  make  a  bath  possible. 

Fortunately  we  found  a  large  motor-boat  running 
regularly,  three  times  a  week,  from  shore  to  shore, 
under  Russian  management.  We  had  seen  the 
last  of  pack  animals  at  Urmi,  and  it  was  in  a 
Russian  "phaeton,"  with  a  rascally  youth  in 
Tartar  costume  for  driver,  that  we  set  out  for  the 
lake-shore.  As  usual'  we  were  sped  on  our  way  by 
our  hosts,  who  drove  with  us  through  the  orchards 
and  cultivated  fields  that  surround  the  city. 
Having  bidden  them  farewell  we  drove  on,  through 
a  country  but  little  cultivated,  and  arrived  in  due 
time  at  the  lake,  having  paused  only  a  few  times 
to  tie  a  broken  axle  up  with  string. 

A  little  group  of  buildings  and  a  wharf  lay  be- 
side a  protected  bay,  where  the  waters  of  the  lake 
had  undermined  the  clay  bank.  We  found  shelter 
in  a  house,  evidently  intended  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  travellers,  though  it  boasted  of  but  a  single 
mud- walled  room.  The  boat  arrived  soon  after, 
and  we  were  warned  to  prepare  for  an  early  start. 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  355 

In  about  eight  hours  we  landed  at  a  long  wharf 
where  there  was  a  grand  rush  on  the  part  of  our- 
selves and  our  fellow-passengers  to  secure  a 
carriage  for  the  long  day's  drive  to  Tabriz.  Our 
unfamiliarity  with  the  language  was  no  little 
hindrance  in  this.  The  carriages  are  part  of  the 
government  postal  system,  and  were  in  charge  of  a 
Persian  official  who  gave  precedence  to  his  own 
people.  Next  came  the  uniformed  Russians,  and 
as  conveyances  were  scarce,  when  the  turn  of  the 
Christian  and  uniformless  Americans  came  there 
was  nothing  to  be  had.  So  we  settled  down  to 
spend  the  day  in  that  desolate  spot,  with  nothing 
but  warehouses  and  a  station  containing  the  offices 
of  the  transportation  company.  The  latter  was  a 
pleasant  enough,  airy  brick  building  and  the  two 
Russian  clerks  gave  us  the  freedom  of  the  place, 
offering  us  their  desks  when  we  wanted  to  write 
and  their  floor  to  sleep  on  at  night. 

As  there  were  no  hills  for  some  miles  inland, 
nothing  but  a  waste  of  salt-encrusted  clay,  there 
was  nothing  of  interest  but  the  lake.  This  is  the 
most  saline  body  of  water  in  the  world,  and  so 
heavy  that  we  found  we  could  sit  in  it  with  head 
and  shoulders  out  of  water.  As  a  result  swimming 
is  no  easy  matter  for  the  water  is  so  buoyant  that 
the  strokes  of  arms  and  legs  are  mostly  in  the  air. 
Fish  cannot  live  in  the  water,  and  the  only  crus- 
tacean known  to  exist  is  a  very  primitive  shrimp ; 
the  newly  hatched  young,  about  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  long,  transparent,  and  almost  shapeless,  we 


356  The  Gate  of  Asia 

found  in  the  water  in  countless  myriads.  Micro- 
scopic examination  reveals  a  few  very  low  forms  of 
animal  life,  but  on  the  whole,  Lake  Urmi  is  the 
deadest  of  dead  seas.  We  experienced  no  smart- 
ing from  the  salt,  except  when  it  touched  abrasions 
in  the  skin,  or  entered  the  eyes,  when  it  was  quite 
painful. 

There  is  a  tradition  among  the  Nestorians  that 
St.  Thomas  the  Apostle  crossed  Lake  Urmi  on  his 
way  to  found  the  Christian  church  that  exists 
today  on  the  Malabar  coast.  The  way  he  crossed 
it,  though  less  remarkable  than  similar  cases 
recorded  in  the  lives  of  more  western  saints,  was 
nevertheless  miraculous,  for  the  story  says  he 
walked  on  the  surface  of  the  waves.  Every  year  the 
Christian  population  of  Urmi  and  the  neighbour- 
hood go  down  to  the  shore  to  celebrate  the  event 
and  enjoy  a  ceremonial  bath,  said  to  have 
remarkable  curative  powers  on  that  sacred  anni- 
versary. 

One  day  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Urmi  passed 
pleasantly  and  profitably  enough.  But  evening 
brought  no  carriages,  and  a  second  day  of  hot, 
dry  sun,  brackish  drinking  water,  and  limited 
cuisine  held  out  no  very  pleasant  prospects.  But 
that  second  evening  witnessed  the  arrival  of  a 
group  of  five  Russian  infantry  officers  on  their  way 
to  Urmi,  a  sight  that  cheered  us  mightily,  and  led 
to  a  hasty  arrangement  with  the  chef  de  paste  for 
an  early  start  next  morning. 

The  Russians,  with  the  careless  bonhomie  that 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  357 

alternates  in  their  kind  with  most  brutal  cruelty 
and  rampant  injustice,  insisted  on  our  joining  them 
at  dinner.  This  was  a  spread  of  no  little  magnitude 
at  which  flowed  quantities  of  vodka  and  Caucasian 
wine.  It  ended  with  toasts  in  halting  French  or 
German,  to  the  American  army,  its  officers,  the 
American  nation,  its  President,  et  c&tera  ad  infini- 
tum,  to  which  we  of  course  responded  with  appro- 
priate toasts  to  Holy  Russia,  her  armies,  and  her 
Czar.  The  final  ceremony  was  of  course  a  sing- 
song, our  hosts  favouring  us  with  sentimental 
national  anthems  and  with  solemn  hymn-like 
tunes. 

They  were  sound  asleep  when  we  departed  at 
dawn  next  day  for  our  drive  to  Tabriz.  It  was  a 
long  day's  drive,  thirty-five  or  forty  miles,  through 
villages  scattered  in  dry  valleys  between  khaki- 
coloured  hills.  At  first  the  only  other  wayfarers 
were  wagons  loaded  with  boxes  of  raisins  for  the 
Russian  market,  making  their  way  by  slow  stages 
to  the  military  road  that  leads  to  the  frontier. 
But  later  we  entered  upon  that  fine  metalled 
highway,  and  encountered  carriages,  caravans  of 
horses  and  camels,  and  a  huge  motor-truck. 

The  villages  were  fresh  with  new  spring  life,  and 
everywhere  were  men  doing  the  many  chores  that 
the  season  demands.  Grape  vines  were  being 
trained  on  new  poles,  grain  fields  ploughed,  bricks 
moulded  for  repairs  to  the  houses,  and  garden  walls 
rebuilt.  The  last  is  perhaps  the  most  picturesque 
occupation  of  the  Persian  gardener  and  appeals  to 


358  The  Gate  of  Asia 

the  natural  fondness  we  all  have  for  playing  in  the 
mud.  The  walls  are  built  of  layers  about  two 
feet  high  and  equally  thick,  and  three  men  are 
needed  to  replace  the  top  layer  when  it  is  washed 
away  by  winter  frost  and  spring  rain.  One  mixes 
the  mud,  while  the  second  stands  at  the  foot  of  the 
wall  and  receives  it  in  his  hands  from  the  shovel, 
passing  it  up  to  the  third  who  squats  on  his  heels 
on  the  top  of  the  wall  and  slaps  the  double  hand- 
fuls  in  place.  Such  a  scene  we  encountered  over 
and  over  again. 

Many  of  the  villages  were  exquisite  studies  in 
subdued,  harmonious  colouring,  full  of  Persian 
genre  subjects  that  would  last  an  artist  a  lifetime. 
The  houses  of  sun-dried  brick,  open  watercourses, 
tall  shade  trees,  poplars  or  pines,  and  halted  wagon- 
loads  of  raisins  made  a  picturesque  setting,  in 
which  were  enacted  little  comedies  of  Eastern 
village  life,  to  which  the  dull-coloured  garments 
and  unfamiliar  types  of  the  participants  added  a 
quality  that  gave  interest  to  the  most  everyday 
affairs. 

The  final  stage  of  the  journey  was  across  a 
broad,  ill-watered  plain,  bordered  by  high  barren 
hills.  Tabriz  itself  lies  in  a  distant  corner,  with 
the  twelve-thousand  foot  mass  of  the  ancient 
volcano  Sahend  rising,  just  to  the  south,  a  huge 
agglomeration  of  deeply  seamed  ridges.  From 
the  nearly  barren  plain  the  greenery  of  the  city 
crowned  by  a  few  domes  was  a  welcome  sight 
indeed.  As  we  came  nearer  and  entered  the  sub- 


Persians  Rebuilding  a  Garden  Wall  near  Urmi 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  359 

urbs  we  became  aware  that  we  were  approaching 
a  great  commercial  centre,  not  a  mere  provincial 
market  town  like  Urmi.  There  was  the  depot  of 
the  Russian  transportation  company  that  runs 
numbers  of  heavy  motor  trucks  along  the  military 
road  that  takes  the  place  of  rail  communication. 
There  was  a  custom-house  too,  and  the  government 
postal  station  where  part  of  our  carriage  hire  was 
collected.  An  automobile  was  before  the  door, 
its  driver  haggling  with  the  official  over  the  road 
tax.  A  Russian  officer  addressed  us  before  we  were 
permitted  to  pass  but  saluted  courteously  on 
reading  letters  we  carried  from  M.  Ulferieff  and 
the  consul  at  Urmi.  There  were  men  about  in 
European  clothes,  and,  horror  of  horrors,  derby 
hats.  Nor  did  these  signs  of  civilization  please  or 
amuse  us,  mingled  though  they  were  with  un- 
mistakable signs  of  the  Orient,  Persian  costumes, 
clumsy  buffalo  carts,  and  tumble-down  garden 
walls.  We  could  not  help  feeling  that  these  things 
were  an  unwarranted  intrusion  into  the  pleasant, 
picturesque  ways  that  we  had  learned  to  know  and 
enjoy.  We  'began  to  understand  why  China  kept 
its  doors  closed  so  long,  and  why  ^Persia  herself 
refused  time  after  time  to  accept  the  favours  of 
Western  diplomacy.  There  is  something  irrecon- 
cilable between  West  and  East,  and  as  the  former 
is  undoubtedly  the  more  vigorous,  it  shatters  the 
ideals  of  its  more  delicate  rival. 

As  we  rode  through  the    streets    we    passed 
through  a  quarter  of  budding  Western  character, 


360  The  Gate  of  Asia 

an  imitation  of  the  Russian  imitation  of  European 
style,  a  sort  of  underdone  Tiflis.  But  we  found 
that  beyond  it  we  could  get  into  the  unspoiled 
East,  the  same  narrow,  dusty,  odorous  streets, 
lined  with  brown  brick  walls.  So  we  came  to  the 
American  consulate,  the  first  since  Bagdad,  and 
entered  the  pleasant  Persian  garden  around  which 
is  built  the  old  mansion  that  several  successive 
representatives  of  Uncle  Sam  have  occupied. 
Here  we  found  the  first  mail  from  home  that  had 
reached  us  for  three  months.  Then  we  returned 
to  our  carriage  and  made  our  way  to  the  American 
mission,  where  we  had  long  since  been  invited  to 
make  our  headquarters,  with  an  old  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Fred  Jessup. 

As  capital  of  one  of  the  most  frequently  invaded 
provinces  in  Asia,  Tabriz  might  readily  claim  to  be 
the  most  tragic  of  cities.  But  she  has  also  suffered 
almost  beyond  comparison  from  the  convulsions 
of  nature.  Before  the  terrible  sack  by  Tamerlane 
in  1392  we  know  that  the  city  was  twice  levelled 
to  the  ground  by  earthquakes,  whose  ruin  the 
bloodthirsty  Tartar  chief  tried  in  vain  to  rival. 
Since  1700,  five  other  earthquakes  have  been 
recorded,  after  which  scarcely  a  house  remained 
standing.  The  first  of  these  in  1721  claimed  80,000 
victims,  and  half  as  many  were  buried  in  the 
debris  of  the  city  fifty-nine  years  later.  Neverthe- 
less the  city  is  today  the  most  flourishing  in  Persia, 
with  a  population  of  200,000  souls,  capital  of  the 
richest  of  the  provinces  of  Iran,  where  2,000,000 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  361 

inhabitants  cultivate  the  broad  flat  valleys  that 
lie  between  rugged,  desolate  mountains. 

This  is  an  excellent  commentary  on  the  old 
theory  that  war,  with  its  accompanying  burning 
of  villages,  girdling  of  trees,  and  destruction  of 
irrigating  systems,  was  one  of  the  chief  causes  of 
desolation,  and  that  the  hand  of  man  could  reduce 
a  comparatively  fertile  country  to  a  desert.  The 
province  which,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Khorassan  in  the  north-east,  has  suffered  most 
from  war  and  misgovernment,  is,  and  always  has 
been,  the  most  prosperous  in  Persia,  with  a  popula- 
tion four  times  as  dense  as  the  sum  of  the  other 
provinces.  Meanwhile  other  provinces,  especially 
those  near  the  great  desert  of  Persia,  have  suffered 
the  most  extreme  tips  and  downs,  although  almost 
never  invaded.  At  times  they  have  been  powerful 
kingdoms,  with  large  cities;  they  have  poured  out 
hordes  of  invaders  into  Azerbaijan  and  Turkey; 
and  finally  they  have  relapsed,  not  once  but  at 
intervals,  into  the  state  of  ruin  and  poverty  in 
which  we  find  them  today. 

The  real  cause  of  these  fluctuations  is  not  war, 
or  industry,  or  the  misuse  of  natural  resources, 
but  periodic  climatic  changes.  Therefore  the 
provinces  that  have  the  greatest  ups  and  downs 
are  those  that  feel  them  most,  the  desert  provinces ; 
and  the  province  of  the  most  constant  prosperity 
is  the  province  that  feels  them  least,  the  province 
whose  rainfall  is  conserved  by  the  great  mountains 
that  hem  it  in,  those  of  Kurdistan  on  the  west,  the 


362  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Caucasus  on  the  north,  and  on  the  east  the  ranges 
that  border  the  Caspian  basin.  This  province  at 
the  same  time  is  looked  upon  with  greedy  eyes  by 
those  whose  fields  are  drying  up,  whose  national 
or  tribal  consciousness  is  being  awakened  by  the 
common  need  of  bread.  For  this  reason  they 
leave  their  homes,  and  carry  fire  and  sword  into 
the  fields  of  their  more  fortunate  neighbours. 
Thus  war  among  primitive  peoples  is  caused  by 
desolation  and  not  desolation  by  war.  The 
invaders  of  Azerbaijan  have  always  come  from  the 
great  deserts,  where  periods  of  plentiful  rainfall 
have  bred  large  populations,  whom  succeeding 
periods  of  drought  have  driven  to  seek  elsewhere 
the  sustenance  that  their  jealous  soil  was  unable 
to  afford.  Thus  it  was  the  Persians  from  the  ill- 
favoured  province  of  Pars  that  overthrew  the 
Medes,  who,  driven  by  drought  from  Khorassan, 
had  invaded  Azerbaijan  centuries  before.  The 
Arabs  came  in  time  from  their  desert,  not  moved 
primarily  by  religion  as  many  have  believed,  for 
no  man  cares  for  his  neighbour's  religion  if  he  can 
sit  in  peace  beneath  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree,  but 
by  the  drying  up  of  the  fertile  pastures  and  pro- 
ductive fields  that  we  know  was  going  on  in  the 
time  of  Mohammed.  The  Mongols  came  from 
the  steppes  of  middle  Asia  and  the  Turks  from 
the  periodically  inhospitable  desert  of  the  Oxus. 

Alexander  too  conquered  Persia,  but  the  Mace- 
donian migration  was  caused  by  the  opposite 
swing  of  the  pendulum.  A  period  of  high  rainfall 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  363 

caused  the  flooding  of  their  fields,  and  sent  the 
mountain  torrents  in  spate  into  the  valleys,  under- 
mining the  arable  land,  and  carrying  away  the  soil 
on  the  rocky  slopes,  where  the  village  flocks  had 
been  wont  to  graze.  Meanwhile  in  Asia  all  was 
prosperous;  the  people  were  busy  in  field  and 
pasture,  living  in  plenty,  marrying  and  giving  in 
marriage.  They  therefore  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the 
Macedonians,  fierce  mountaineers  harried  from 
their  homes  by  the  inexorable  decrees  of  climate. 
They  were  not  moved  primarily  by  a  love  of 
conquest,  but  by  a  desire  for  bread,  and  once  they 
had  satisfied  that  desire  they  refused  to  follow 
their  leader  farther,  and  compelled  him  to  give 
up  his  scheme  of  Indian  conquest.  The  description 
of  his  return  throws  much  light  on  the  state  of 
Persia  at  that  time.  He  sent  his  elephants  and 
heavy  baggage  across  the  great  desert,  where  a 
caravan  of  camels  would  suffer  today,  while  he 
and  the  bulk  of  his  army  made  their  way  along  the 
coast  of  Beluchistan,  where  the  most  mobile  of 
caravans  would  perish  today  for  lack  of  water  and 
fodder. 

Though  there  are  plenty  of  ruins  to  be  found  in 
Tabriz,  and  the  whole  city  bears  the  air  of  neglect 
that  is  characteristic  of  the  Near  East,  it  is  not 
surrounded  by  deserted  areas  covering  a  space 
larger  than  the  city  itself  as  are  most  Persian 
provincial  capitals,  as  well  as  Bagdad  and  Mosul, 
as  I  have  elsewhere  noted.  The  ruins  are  mostly 
those  of  disused  public  buildings,  dating  from 


364  The  Gate  of  Asia 

Seljuk  or  Mongol  times.  Around  one  of  these  the 
city  life  centres,  the  old  ark,  or  citadel  as  we  should 
call  it.  It  is  an  enormous,  shapeless  mass  of  brick, 
rising  above  the  city,  three  or  four  times  as  high  as 
the  surrounding  buildings.  No  one  knows  who 
actually  built  it,  or  whether  it  was  ever  really 
finished,  but  tradition  ascribes  it  to  Genghis  Khan. 
That  it  is  still  capable  of  use  as  a  fortress  was 
demonstrated  during  the  Nationalist  uprising  of 
1908-09,  and  the  troubles  that  followed. 

When  the  Shah  Mohammed  AH — who  has  lived 
in  exile  in  Odessa  since  1909 — in  June,  1908, 
bombarded  the  Persian  parliament  out  of  exist- 
ence, the  city  revolted,  having  been  for  some 
time  the  stronghold  of  the  Nationalist  party,  on 
account  of  its  prosperity  and  close  touch  with 
Western  ideas.  The  best  of  the  Shah's  troops 
joined  the  revolt,  and  the  others  were  quite  useless, 
so  he  called  in  the  Kurds  to  take  their  place.  The 
city  was  invested  by  them  and  held  out  until 
April,  1909,  when  the  siege  was  raised  by  the 
Russians  to  protect  the  European  residents.  This 
was  all  well  enough,  and  the  Nationalists  appre- 
ciated outside  assistance.  But  they  soon  found 
they  had  fallen  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire, 
and  had  less  freedom  under  Russian  military  rule 
than  under  that  of  the  Shah.  Naturally  they 
resented  this  and  rebelled  once  more. 

Trouble  began  without  warning.  Bodies  of 
Russian  troops  were  caught  in  various  parts  of  the 
city  and  annihilated,  and  before  long  the  city  was 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  365 

in  the  hands  of  the  Nationalists,  and  the  Russian 
camp  in  a  state  of  siege.  But  reinforcements  were 
soon  rushed  to  the  scene  and  the  rebels  driven 
back  into  the  city.  The  bombardment  that 
followed  will  long  be  remembered.  The  principal 
position  of  the  rebels  was  the  summit  of  the  ark, 
from  which  they  could  pour  a  deadly  fire  into 
the  camp  of  the  Russians.  The  latter  responded 
with  field  artillery,  and  being  bad  shots,  dropped 
shells  upon  the  American  consulate,  and  the 
mission  buildings,  all  of  which  were  near  the 
ark. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  flown  from  all  these 
buildings,  but  that  made  no  difference  to  the 
Russians,  and  a  perfect  hail  of  bullets  from  both 
sides  fell  all  around.  When  the  Russians  entered 
the  city,  fighting  from  street  to  street,  they  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  American  girls'  school,  where 
the  ladies  in  charge  had  fastened  their  flag  to  one 
of  the  chimneys.  A  group  of  soldiers  climbed  on 
the  roof  and  began  to  unfasten  it.  They  were 
routed  however  by  the  appearance  of  one  of  the 
ladies,  who  came  up  through  a  trap  door,  re- 
fastened  the  flag  in  spite  of  the  hail  of  bullets,  and 
returned  unscathed. 

Gradually  the  Russians  made  their  way  through 
the  streets,  arriving  at  last  before  the  ark.  There 
a  few  desperate  defenders  held  out  until  so  weak 
from  lack  of  food  and  water  that  no  further  resist- 
ance was  possible.  The  final  scene,  visible  from 
all  parts  of  the  city,  was  a  row  of  corpses,  hanging 


366  The  Gate  of  Asia 

from  a  large  gibbet  on  the  very  summit  of  the 
historic  fortress. 

The  original  incursion  of  the  Russians  had  been 
to  support  the  Nationalists,  but  now  a  new  Shah 
sat  on  the  throne  at  Tehran,  a  boy  of  twelve,  and 
a  regime  was  instituted  under  Russian  control. 
So  the  reactionaries  were  no  longer  in  favour,  and 
a  Royalist  governor,  newly  appointed  to  Tabriz, 
received  the  approbation  of  the  conquerors. 
Terrible  as  had  been  the  losses  during  the  Kurdish 
siege  and  the  Russian  street  fighting,  they  were 
forgotten  when  this  man  began  his  excesses.  He 
set  out  to  avenge  the  Royalists,  and  incidentally 
keep  in  Russian  favour  by  including  their  enemies 
in  the  list  of  slain.  Gibbets  were  erected  in  all 
conspicuous  parts  of  the  city,  on  the  walls  and 
before  public  buildings.  A  ghastly  crop  of 
strangled  bodies  appeared  upon  them,  renewed 
from  time  to  time.  If  any  man  had  a  personal 
grudge  against  a  city  notable  or  owed  a  debt  to  a 
prominent  merchant,  he  mentioned  his  name  to  the 
governor,  and  his  place  knew  him  no  more.  In  the 
streets  and  bazaars  the  bodies  of  lesser  men  were 
hanged  from  time  to  time  as  a  warning,  and  not 
always  by  the  neck.  Men  were  suspended  by  their 
feet  for  a  day  and  then  hacked  in  two  with  an  ax ; 
others  were  beheaded,  and  many  were  mutilated 
and  tortured  in  a  fashion  that  defies  description. 
Meanwhile  the  Russians  stood  by,  giving  a  quiet 
word  of  encouragement  now  and  then,  well  know- 
ing that  all  this  barbarity  was  paving  the  way  for 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  367 

the  seizure  of  Azerbaijan,  and  its  reduction  to  the 
status  of  a  Russian  province;  an  aim  that  is  now 
practically  an  accomplished  fact. 

The  bazaars  that  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  ark  are 
still  quite  Oriental,  showing  little  or  no  sign  of 
Western  influence.  There  are  the  same  roofed 
streets,  the  same  narrow  booths,  where  the  dealer 
squats  on  his  heels  in  easy  reach  of  all  his  stock 
in  trade;  the  same  confusion  of  picturesque  types 
and  costumes,  that  we  had  witnessed  in  other 
places.  They  never  lost  their  fascination,  however, 
and  we  were  no  less  interested  in  our  surroundings 
than  we  had  been  in  Bagdad.  There  were  a  few 
new  sights  and  scenes  and  the  costumes  in  the 
streets  were  distinctly  those  of  Iran,  not  of  Arabia. 

Among  other  things  we  saw  the  great  rug  ware- 
house of  the  Zieglers,  the  greatest  European  trading 
company  in  Persia.  It  was  in  a  quiet  square  beside 
the  bazaar,  which  it  shared  with  other  warehouses 
and  the  company's  counting-house.  Passing 
through  a  large  doorway  under  a  lofty  pointed 
arch  we  entered  a  great  barnlike  room,  as  big  as  a 
church.  The  walls  all  around  were  piled  high  with 
bales  from  all  parts  of  Persia,  collected  by  the 
company's  agents  for  the  European  and  American 
market,  in  spite  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
country.  Europeans,  in  conventional  tail  coats, 
were  measuring  and  invoicing  a  lot  of  large  carpets 
for  shipment,  while  Persian  /crashes  were  spread- 
ing them  out  of  the  floor  one  after  the  other. 
They  were  carpets  of  Kerman  and  Ispahan, 


368  The  Gate  of  Asia 

valued  at  so  much  a  square  foot,  and  as  they  were 
of  unusually  large  size  the  values  ran  to  almost 
fabulous  amounts.  That  shipment  duly  recorded, 
a  lot  of  prayer  rugs  followed,  beautiful  pieces  from 
Shiraz  and  Kermanshah,  decorated  with  the  most 
exquisite  patterns  in  the  subdued  shades  of  the 
favourite  vegetable  dyes.  Piled  up  on  the  floor  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  great  warehouse,  that  ship- 
ment was  worth  a  king's  ransom;  once  arrived  in 
America,  and  displayed  on  Fifth  Avenue,  whither 
it  was  billed,  it  would  command  an  almost  un- 
believable sum.  We  were  told  that  the  contents 
of  the  whole  warehouse  were  worth  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars. 

Some  distance  from  the  bazaar,  in  a  mean 
quarter  of  the  city,  lie  the  ruins  of  what  was  once 
the  masterpiece  of  Persian  architectural  crafts- 
manship, the  Blue  Mosque.  It  dates  from  the  days 
of  Alp-Arslan,  the  Seljuk  conqueror,  and  was  used 
for  many  generations  as  the  principal  Sunni  place 
of  worship  in  Persia.  But  that  sect  has  been  re- 
placed by  the  Shia  in  Tabriz,  and  the  old  mosque 
has  been  allowed  to  go  to  ruin,  in  part  indeed 
destroyed.  The  arch  of  the  great  doorway  still 
stands,  a  marvel  of  blue  and  white  tilework  that 
gives  the  mosque  its  name.  Within  is  a  magnificent 
hall  of  exquisite  faience,  that  has  stood  the  ravages 
of  time  and  religious  jealousy  surprisingly  well. 
The  last  vestiges  of  the  roof  are  gone,  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  walls  are  slowly  crumbling  away, 
but  the  lower  parts  and  the  pointed  arches  are 


The  Blue  Mosque  at  Tabriz,   Interior 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  369 

largely  intact.  The  inner  court  is  surrounded  by  a 
wainscoting  of  alabaster,  creamy  white  with  yel- 
low marblings,  carved  with  a  band  of  intricate 
arabesques.  The  whole  building  is  at  once  a 
monument  to  Persian  art,  and  a  blot  on  the  name 
of  those  who  have  let  the  chief  treasure  of  their 
city  go  to  rack  and  ruin  on  account  of  religious 
jealousy.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  said  for 
this  fanaticism:  it  does  not  object  to  foreigners 
prying  into  this  old  Sunni  building,  while  Shia 
mosques  are  absolutely  closed  to  all  infidels. 

We  made  a  number  of  calls  on  prominent  officials, 
Persians  and  Russians,  during  our  stay  in  Tabriz, 
and  were  always  received  with  courtesy.  Mr. 
Paddock,  the  American  consul,  also  extended  to 
us  the  most  cordial  hospitality.  Among  other 
things  relating  to  the  recent  events  in  the  city  he 
showed  us  the  rifle  that  had  belonged  to  a  young 
American  named  Baskerville.  He  had  come  out, 
fresh  from  Princeton  University,  to  teach  in  the 
mission  college,  and  was  killed  leading  a  sally 
against  the  Kurds  during  the  siege  of  1909. 

Among  others  we  were  received  by  the  family 
of  a  young  man  who  had  been  in  school  and  college 
with  me,  and  was  at  the  time  in  America  with  two 
other  members  of  the  family.  The  members  of  this 
Kallantar  family,  though  occupying  prominent 
positions  in  the  local  government,  were  Nationalist 
sympathizers,  and  took  active  parts  in  the  revolu- 
tion of  1908.  After  the  uprising  against  the 
Russians  they  had  been  forced  to  fly  the  city,  their 


37°  The  Gate  of  Asia 

houses  had  been  plundered,  and  their  property 
confiscated.  They  had  recently  been  restored  to 
favour,  however,  and  succeeded  in  regaining  their 
property  and  much  of  their  former  prestige. 

Driving  out  to  the  suburb  where  they  lived,  we 
passed  through  ruinous  outbuildings,  into  a  garden 
that  was  just  recovering  from  an  era  of  neglect. 
The  house  still  lay  partly  in  ruins  but  we  were  led 
into  a  large  room,  furnished  with  several  high 
windows,  and  thickly  carpeted  with  Tabriz  rugs. 
The  only  furniture  consisted  of  bent- wood  chairs 
ranged  around  the  wall,  and  a  few  stands  for  the 
inevitable  glasses  of  tea.  We  were  received  by  my 
friend's  father  and  an  elderly  uncle  of  his.  The 
former  was  a  tall  man,  with  very  dark  features, 
wearing  a  blue  broadcloth  suit  in  the  style  of  the 
better  class,  and  very  handsome,  but  for  the  stiff 
carriage  that  Persian  men  affect.  While  we  were 
drinking  the  three  small  glasses  of  tea  that  etiquette 
requires,  and  trying  to  keep  our  feet  from  being 
too  conspicuous,  so  as  not  to  offend  our  hosts  who 
sat  with  theirs  tucked  well  under  their  seats,  we 
gave  the  proud  father  all  the  news  we  could  about 
his  sons  in  distant  America. 

While  he  was  thanking  us  in  the  effusive  Persian 
manner,  his  brother  entered,  and  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  this  man,  who  is  virtually  the 
head  of  the  family,  and  chiefly  responsible  for  its 
revolutionary  sympathies.  Once  high  in  favour  at 
court  he  married  the  Shah's  sister,  but  later,  repre- 
senting Tabriz  in  the  national  parliament, — the 


Urmi  and  Tabriz  371 

Majlis  as  it  is  called, — he  escaped  with  difficulty 
the  vengeance  of  his  brother-in-law.  He  tried  to 
dissuade  his  fellow-Nationalists  from  making  the 
disastrous  attack  on  the  Russians,  and  brought 
down  on  himself  their  enmity  as  well  as  that  of  the 
Royalists.  He  was  one  of  the  first  to  be  haled 
forth  after  the  fall  of  the  rebels,  was  led  under  one 
of  the  gibbets,  the  noose  was  dropped  over  his 
shoulders,  and  he  was  about  to  be  hoisted  into  the 
air  to  strangle  slowly,  when  a  messenger  from  the 
governor  ordered  the  execution  stayed.  His  wife's 
intercession  had  saved  his  life,  but  he  was  thrown 
into  prison,  and  escaped  with  difficulty.  For 
months  he  wandered  from  village  to  village,  all  but 
starving,  until  he  was  finally  pardoned  and  his 
property  restored. 

Beside  the  house  was  a  high-walled  garden  where 
we  walked  among  young  fruit  trees,  beds  of  tulips, 
and  stately  poplars.  The  Persian  loves  a  garden, 
and  all  the  better-class  houses  are  provided  with 
them.  It  is  a  natural  consequence  of  the  general 
aridity  of  the  country,  and  the  crowning  glory  of 
the  garden  is  always  a  pool  of  water,  in  which  the 
plants  are  reflected. 

On  the  whole  we  found  Tabriz  a  city  of  fas- 
cinating interest,  not  soon  to  be  forgotten.  Tragic 
as  has  been  its  history,  ancient  and  modern,  it  has 
preserved  a  character  of  its  own,  and  deserves  to 
rank  with  Cairo,  Constantinople,  and  Bagdad,  as 
a  typical  Moslem  centre. 


L  CHAPTER  XV 

CONCLUSION 

FROM  Tabriz  we  reached  the  Russian  frontier 
in  a  huge  auto  bus  that  runs  regularly  over 
the  splendid  military  road,  to  the  railway  ter- 
minus at  Julfa.  Julfa  was  once  an  important 
Armenian  centre,  but  its  ancient  prestige  has  now 
entirely  departed,  and  there  remains  only  a  dirty, 
offensive  Russian  frontier  town.  After  being 
shamefully  robbed  by  a  vicious-looking  set  of 
customs  officers,  we  succeeded  in  catching  the  one 
daily  passenger  train  to  Tiflis  with  the  welcome 
assistance  of  an  English  commercial  traveller. 
Then  followed  twenty-four  hours  in  the  train 
during  which  we  passed  under  the  very  shadow  of 
Ararat,  through  the  heart  of  Russian  Armenia. 

Russian  railway  carriages  are  comfortable 
enough,  and  the  place  of  dining-cars  is  taken  by 
clean,  pleasant  station  restaurants,  where  the  train 
stops  at  convenient  intervals  for  meals.  Speed  is 
no  consideration  in  this  distant  corner  of  the  Czar's 
Empire,  and  the  trains  potter  along  in  an  indiffer- 
ent way  that  savours  decidedly  of  the  East. 

Tiflis  however  is  quite  like  a  provincial  town  of 
372 


Conclusion  373 

European  Russia,  having  lost  all  the  Oriental 
character  it  possessed  a  generation  ago.  As  we 
bumped  over  the  crossings  into  the  railway  station, 
Edwin  Warfield  remarked  that  we  might  almost 
be  running  into  Philadelphia.  We  agreed  that  we 
preferred  Bagdad,  and  would  take  a  horse  in  pre- 
ference to  a  railway  carriage,  and  let  Asoufi's 
charcoal  brazier  do  for  our  buffet,  whenever  we 
again  had  an  opportunity. 

Picturesque  as  is  the  situation  of  Tiflis,  it  is  in 
a  hollow  without  mountain  views.  But  it  is  the 
terminus  of  one  of  the  most  striking  scenic  high- 
ways in  the  world.  This  is  the  splendid  military 
road  across  the  Caucasus  to  Vladikavkaz.  We 
found  this  section  a  wild  jumble  of  deep  gorges, 
splendid  valleys,  and  towering  peaks,  that  shame 
the  Alps,  and  are  not  to  be  compared  with  anything 
in  Europe.  The  natives,  sturdy  hillmen  in  long- 
skirted  Circassian  coats  and  huge  sheepskin  hats, 
yield  nothing  to  the  Kurds  in  barbaric  appearance. 
That  this  region  has  not  become  a  tourist's  haunt, 
a  mountaineer's  paradise,  is  due  solely  to  the  back- 
wardness of  the  country  and  the  lack  of  proper 
accommodations. 

Tiflis  was  once  the  capital  of  Georgia,  the  home 
of  a  gallant  race  of  open-handed  swashbucklers, 
whose  picturesque  costume  is  still  common  in  the 
streets.  But  the  old  Tiflis  is  gone  and  instead  we 
saw  an  imitation  of  Europe,  ugly  brick  houses, 
with  tin  roofs,  a  museum,  a  picture  gallery,  pre- 
tentious parks,  and  slums, — foul,  narrow  allies 


374  The  Gate  of  Asia 

full  of  white-faced  women  and  dirty  children, 
homes  of  the  labourers  who  bear  the  burden  of 
European  civilization.  In  Turkey  we  saw  no  such 
thing.  There  were  beggars  and  dervishes,  the 
halt,  the  lame,  and  the  blind,  but  they  did  not 
suffer  for  lack  of  food,  and  there  were  no  slums. 

From  Tiflis  we  reached  the  port  of  Batum  on  the 
Black  Sea,  and  there  boarded  an  Austrian  steamer 
for  the  Bosphorus.  The  cities  of  the  Turkish 
coast  are  strange  mixtures  of  East  and  West, 
Ottoman  and  Byzantine,  as  is  the  Sultan's  capital 
itself.  With  its  Byzantine  mosques,  its  bazaars, 
its  European  stores,  and  crowds  of  people  in  many 
garbs  it  seems  an  anomaly  to  the  Western  visitor, 
a  bit  of  Asia  in  Europe.  But  we  who  had  come 
from  the  eastward  knew  that  it  was  really  an 
European  city  in  most  essentials,  and  that  Asia 
was  far  away  on  the  other  side  of  Anatolia,  beyond 
the  portals  of  the  great  gateway  we  had  but  lately 
traversed. 


M  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


Cambridge  Historical  Series 

Europe  and  the  Far 
East 

1506=1912 

By 

Sir  Robert  K.  Douglas 

Professor  of  Chinese  at  King's  College,  London 
Revised  and  Corrected,  with  an  Additional  Chapter 
(1904-1912) 
By 

Joseph  H.  Longford 

Professor  of  Japanese  at  King's  College,  London 

An  attempt  has  been  made  to  give  a  con- 
nected history  of  the  relations  which  have 
prevailed  between  the  nations  of  the  West  and 
the  Empires  of  China,  Japan,  Annam,  and 
Siam.  The  ground  thus  covered  is  so  vast,  and 
the  people  dealt  with  are  so  extended,  that  it 
has  been  necessary  to  summarise  much  which 
otherwise  might  well  have  merited  a  more 
detailed  treatment.  A  short  article  on 
Chinese  geographical  terms,  reproduced  from 
the  Times,  by  the  permission  of  the  Editor 
has  been  added  as  an  appendix  to  the  present 
work. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


A  Traveller's  Notes  on  Java,  Celebes,  the 
Moluccas,  and  Sumatra 

By  Arthur  S.  Walcott 

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$250  nei 

A  most  illuminating  and  entertaining 
account  of  travel  among  and  within  the 
Dutch -Malay  islands.  This  volume 
should  be  of  great  service  to  travellers, 
in  view  of  the  practical  hints  it  offers 
and  the  added  pleasure  received  from 
a  knowledge  of  the  history  of  places 
visited, — and  to  the  stay-at-home  trav- 
eller through  the  many  excellent  and  un- 
usual photographs  and  the  delightfully 
intimate  text. 

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